


Muggle Magic

by Aelys_Althea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blowjobs, Brief Depictions of Violence and Gore, Bullying, Dark Themes Towards the End, Exploring both the Muggle and Wizarding world, F/F, F/M, First Time, First boyfriend, Homophobia, Internalised Homophobia, James & Lily live, LGBTQ Character, Like really slow, M/M, Muggle Magic, Muggle Technology, Muggle Upbringing, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Pre-Canon Divergence, Queer Characters, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 111,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelys_Althea/pseuds/Aelys_Althea
Summary: When Voldemort came for Harry, Lily took a stand. This time, Voldemort was defeated. But not enough for the Potters.Leaving the Wizarding world behind them, Harry is raised a Muggle without any knowledge of the magic. Not of the real kind, anyway. But magic always finds a way, and in his final year of high school Harry is introduced to a school of unexpected and unfamiliar people. Different people. Interesting people. And one person in particular that  managed to draw a little more interest than the rest.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson/OFC
Comments: 89
Kudos: 396
Collections: Creative Chaos Discord Recs, Draco tops Harry 2020, res’ drarry faves





	1. Chapter 1

The cottage was modest. Not small, yet humble. Private, quiet, and unremarkable. Should any resident of Godric's Hollow spare it a second glance, they would more than likely consider it nothing if not suited to the rest of the little village. If they could see it at all, that was.

Double storey. A sparse garden with trimmed hedges. A narrow footpath leading from a gate to the front door. It was all so picturesque, from the steeple roof and panelled walls to the sleepy windows draped in curtains from the inside, that it would have likely deterred any who sought to disrupt its peace. That night, muffled by shadow and the cool chill of autumn, was no different.

Except that it wasn't private. Not anymore. It was silent, but it wouldn't be for long. The humble detachedness of the cottage that was so removed from the surrounding village of Godric's Hollow was on limited time. Had been on limited time.

When Lord Voldemort swept towards that cottage, striding on silent feet down that narrow footpath, the perfect simplicity of the brief respite from fear and war was obliterated. The cottage would never feel its comfortable ease again.

* * *

With a sigh, Lily slumped onto the couch. Her head rocking back, and she scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms.

"Go to bed."

Lily grunted. Dropping her hands, she rocked her head to where James sat at her side, slouching into the cushions with legs extended limply before him. He looked tired, just as she felt. His hair was even messier than usual, his shoulders slumped, and the smudges of darkness beneath his eyes seemed almost shadows of the glassed that had half slipped down his nose.

"Just a little while longer," Lily said, shifting and tucking her legs up and under her. "I think I need a bit of a respite."

"We'll have to get this habit out of him," James said with a sigh.

"If you have any solutions, then please, I'm more than happy to hear them."

Lily knew she was being short. She couldn't help it; of late, the rising threat of war, the destruction wrought by Death Eaters, and the endless string of deaths was wearing heavily upon her. There was only so much she could do to help as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. She was only one person in a handful of people that were even trying. The battles, the chasing, and more often the fleeing, were exhausting on more than a physical level. Lily dragged herself home of an evening worn and world-weary.

When she went out at all, that was. Many days she didn't even do that. The world was endangered, but for her? For her family? Her son? If Dumbledore's speculations were correct, they were at the top of Voldemort's hit list. It was impossible not to slip out, to help where she could just as James did, but the safety of the Fidelius Charm and the unplottable isolation of their cottage in was a necessary precaution she had to abide by. Abided by and clung to.

Harry was the most important thing, after all. To Lily, nothing could trump the love she felt for her son. Not even when he was being _such_ a _pain_ at the moment.

"I thought they were supposed to get bad when they turned two, not one," she said, swallowing her frustration. James hadn't commented on her scathing words, and it only served to provoke shame for her venting. "Isn't that what the whole 'terrible twos' is supposed to refer to?"

James smiled tiredly, his hands absently folding the parchment newspaper he held. "Harry's always been special."

"Don't I know it."

"Maybe this is just a part of that specialness."

"I think I could handle him being a little less special if it meant he didn't fight me every step of the way to bed," Lily said with a huff. Her frustration was waning, however, the vexation of Harry's bedtime routine fading with the knowledge that he was down and more often than not stayed down these days. Remus had offered to watch him for the evening to give them a break but…

Regardless of how mentally taxing caring for a resistant toddler in the midst of a war was, Lily couldn't allow it. It was hard enough to leave Harry when guilt dragged her to the warfront.

Sighing, Lily let herself fall sideways, slumping onto James' shoulder. His head rocked against hers, cheek atop her crown, and for a moment Lily felt the weight of the day seep from her shoulders. She closed her eyes, massaged the frown from her forehead with her fingers, and bathed in the simple quiet of their living room, the crackle of the fireplace the only disruption.

A respite. A break. Even after year it still felt like such a novelty. Why had no one prepared her for how exhausting wrestling with a child was everyday? They'd _told_ her, but they'd never properly explained. That respite, that break, was so desperately needed that Lily was almost happy to fall to sleep upon the couch that evening. To drift into unconsciousness against James' shoulder and just forget for a time. To ignore the –

 _Thump_.

Lily cracked an eye open. She was glaring at the ceiling before she'd even begun to formulate a thought. "James."

"Mm?"

 _Thump_.

"James, I swear to God, if that's one of his toys falling out of his cot and he wakes up screaming for it, I will have to murder you."

James' resigned chuckle was smothered, but leaning against him, Lily felt it nonetheless. "Kill Sirius, not me. He's the one who buys them for him."

Lily stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling, daring another barely audible _thump_ to sound. None came, not for a long moment, but Lily sighed again nonetheless and pushed herself upright.

"Just leave it," James said as she rose to her feet.

"I don't want him to wake up halfway through the night again," Lily said, scrubbing her face once more.

"Then I'll get it," James said, folding the newspaper he held once more. "Sit down, I'll just –"

"No, no. Sit. It's my night." Lily waved her hand at him as she skirted the couch. The birth of her renewed frustration was withheld from redirecting towards James by the resignation of his attempt to rise. He'd had a long day with the Order and in many ways such work was harder than caring for an objectionable one-year-old. There was a certain level of exhaustion that could only be felt when reading through lists of the daily deceased.

Trailing her hand over James' head as she passed behind him, Lily ghosted towards the stairwell. She knew their walls far too well for such short habitation. Hours of enduring nothing else had made each scratch in the wall paper, each creak in the steps and loose thread of carpet, tediously familiar. Lily hated it as much as she blessed the very foundations of the hidden cottage; familiarity had instilled a degree of confidence in its safety.

Slipping silently up the stairs, Lily padded on muffled feet towards Harry's bedroom. She would just peer inside, would just check that he hadn't accidentally kicked one of his Sirius-cursed toys from his bed. He'd latched onto the three Sirius had given him for his birthday with a vengeance; Lily's sleep had been disrupted more than enough times over the past months to risk leaving them scattered about the floor where he couldn't reach them should he awaken.

She would just peek. Just to be sure. Only a glimpse, and not to step inside, because he was certainly a Wizarding baby and seemed to have a knack for sensing when she was nearby –

She froze. Froze in a wash of chilling horror.

Harry's room wasn't large. Pale and stuffed with toys, a single glance from the doorway could behold everything within. The treasure chest. The wardrobe. The cot and the mobile of flapping dragons hanging above.

And the black-robed man standing right beside it.

He was tall. He loomed like a wraith. The drag of his sleeve hung long and loose. A pale hand reached, the rod of his wand extended and pointed directly towards Lily's child - her _child_ – where he lay blissfully unaware in the sea of his stuffed toys.

The man regarded him. He didn't move. His cowled head was cocked, as though contemplating the fragility of the child before him. And then his hand twitched and the wand rose just a little higher.

Lily didn't think. She couldn't. The sudden roaring in her ears, the stutter of her heartbeat, the cry that passed her lips – she barely registered any of it. Throwing herself bodily through the doorway, Lily crashed past the man, shouldering through him. Someone cried, _"No!"_ in a shriek of tangible terror.

The cot rocked wildly with her collision. Harry was in her arms as Lily staggered to her knees. He was waking, stirring, gurgling and then grizzling as she clutched him and all of his swaddling to her chest, spinning towards the black-robed man. The man who straightened, turning towards her. The pale hand, the pale wand, the cowl and the black draping that hid almost every inch of him…

Lily didn't need to be told who he was.

"Please. _Please_ , don't hurt him, don't –"

Her ears were muffled. Her heartbeat thundered. She knew she was babbling but barely heard her own words.

"Step aside, girl," the man breathed.

She didn't have her wand. She didn't have it, she'd left it downstairs, she'd –

"Not Harry," she begged. "You can't touch him, you _can't_."

"I said move aside, girl, unless you want to join the dead."

Harry was sobbing, writhing in Lily's arms, and she _didn't have her wand_.

"Please, you can't, I'll do anything, I'll –"

"I said _move aside_."

Lord Voldemort raised his wand. He pointed at Lily, at Harry, and he didn't speak. Harry twisted, had begun wailing, and Lily clutched him for dear life.

 _No. No, he can't, he won't_ –

"Please don't!"

The wand swept. Lily screamed. Harry screamed in a mangled echo. A brilliant, vibrant green erupted throughout the room, and a wash of heat buffeted Lily before something – a dart, a missile, an explosion – struck her with full force.

The pain. The searing, burning pain.

She was blinded. She couldn't see, couldn't hear, her senses swallowed by the green light and the frenzy pulsing through her veins. She clung to Harry, felt herself scream as _all that green_ tore apart her lungs, and then –

Nothing.

Silence.

Silence, and just… nothing.

For a long moment, Lily thought she was dead. Was convinced of it, even, though she didn't loosen her arms from Harry for a moment to be sure. With a struggle, fighting through the insurgence of nausea, through the burning, searing pain that chewed at her face, she blinked her eyes open.

The world had turned on its side. No, _she_ was on her side, had collapsed onto the ground, cheek pillowed by the thin carpet. Disaster had exploded around her. The treasure chest had erupted, fractured toys tossed in a frenzy. The mobile, its dragons still twitching like lizards' tails, scattered across the floor. The cot was… it was in pieces. Splinters spread around Lily as though the structure itself had been the victim of a Blasting Curse.

And there, directly across from Lily where she didn't even have to raise her head to see, was…

Harry didn't move in her arms. That fact became aware the moment the nausea dampened enough for Lily to actually feel her fingers. When she did, even the discarded pile of robes that had been Lord Voldemort became of secondary importance.

A tremble shook down Lily's spine. Her arms seized in a terrified spasm, and it was a struggle to loosen them enough to peer down into the cradle of swaddling she still clutched.

"Harry?"

* * *

James crashed into the room like a rampant hippogriff, but Lily hardly noticed. Her breath was ragged as she gasped, rocking on her knees where she'd managed to push herself upright.

"Just asleep," she chanted, her voice shrill in her ears. "He's just asleep, he's just asleep, he's just –"

"Lily?"

James' voice was choked, his own breath ragged, but Lily hardly heard him. She had the strength only to clutch Harry, to stare down at him with an unblinking plea speaking made truth of her words. "Just asleep." Her voice warbled. "It's alright, he's just asleep, he's just –"

"Lily – oh, Merlin, your _face_. Lily, what -?"

"He's just asleep, James," Lily said. Tears burned in her eyes, blurring her vision, and frantic blinks couldn't disperse them. Her fingers clawed around Harry's swaddling, desperate, pleading, and she couldn't look away from her baby. "He's just – he's just asleep, isn't he, James? He's just…"

James stumbled into the room, collapsing to his knees before Lily and scrambling to her side. His hands shook as one reached towards Harry, towards his pale face and chubby cheeks, his closed eyes too still to be _just sleeping_. Lily hadn't known what fear was until she saw him like that. She hadn't understood.

James drew his wand from his pocket. It too shook as he held it over Harry, his voice wavering as he spoke an incantation and a scatter of white sparks drifted down over the top of him. For a moment, the fell, resting, peppering Harry's face like fairy dust. Then they flared blue.

James' gasping breath was like a promise in Lily's ears. She was sobbing in hoarse pants even before he spoke. "He's alright, Lily. He's – he's alright, he's just –"

"Sleeping," Lily said, hugging Harry towards her and dropping her forehead towards his own. "He's just sleeping."

"Magically exhausted," James said, his voice wavering. "I don't know… I don't know why he would be – why he would possibly be…" James trailed off, and Lily felt his arm wrap around her shoulder, dragging her against him. She couldn't raise her head from Harry to turn towards him. She could hardly move at all.

Her face hurt, whatever had happened to it. She was exhausted, nauseous, still on the brink of keeling sideways. Everything part of Lily felt pained, and her aching chest most of all. But none of that mattered. Not at that moment, because Harry was alright. That meant everything else was, too.

_He's alright, he's just sleeping, so he's alright, he's…_

"What happened here?" James finally asked, intruding upon Lily silent chanting.

Lily shook her head, the damp skin of her cheeks – when had she actually started crying? – sticking to Harry's face. "This is it, James," she whispered, her voice a hoarse croak. "I'm done. I've had enough."

"You're –?"

"If this is what the Wizarding world has promised for my son, I want no part of it." Lily felt her shoulders shake, though she couldn't be sure whether it was in fear or sudden anger. "I'll not let him be a part of this. I'll not let him be at risk."

"Lily –"

"I'm taking him away, James," she said, barely hearing him. "I'll take him away, use magic to hide us."

"Lily, I –"

"And if you aren't prepared to come with us, I'll leave you behind."

The thought of leaving James behind hurt more than the throbbing pain in Lily's face, but it was secondary to the fear that gripped her and demanded escape. She kept her eyes squeezed closed, shuttered from the disaster of the room, the destruction that had erupted, and evidence of her survival that she couldn't even attempt to understand. How? And Voldemort, was he…? And Harry, with his magical exhaustion, had…?

It didn't matter. Not really. Lily disregarded it, clinging to Harry, because there were more important things. There were more –

"Of course I'm coming with you," James said lowly. "Fuck this world. Fuck it all, Lily. If it's to protect you and Harry, then… then I'd leave it behind in a heartbeat."

His words were fierce, a promise, and it was that as much as the unshakeable tightening of his arm around Lily's shoulders that finally coaxed her chin up. In the darkness of the room, a darkness that seemed even deeper after the brilliant brightness of the green Death Curse of barely moments before, Lily could just make out his face. His eyes, narrowed and fierce, the thinning of his lips, the tightening of his jaw.

She knew in that moment. She knew with utter certainty that she would leave the Wizarding world, and she would take her son with her. She knew then, too, that she wouldn't be doing it alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Stairs were a serious health hazard to the visually impaired. That much Harry had decided after years of battling against them.

Still looping his tie around his neck and stumbling over his half-laced shoes, he could hardly be blamed for not looking where he was going. Even if such a disastrous start to the morning as almost tumbling head-over-heels down the stairwell was almost a daily occurrence.

"Fuck!" he cursed, catching himself on the banister.

"Harry James Evans, you'll refrain from using such language in my house," his mother called from the kitchen.

"It's okay, Mum," he called back, straightening. "I nearly killed myself, but really, I'm fine. I'll try and mind my swearing in future."

"We should start a swear jar again," Harry heard his father say. "We'd be able to buy the year's Christmas presents with our takings, I'd wager."

"Yeah, and mostly from you, you tosser."

" _Harry_ ," his mother sighed with more resignation than reprimand.

Zipping his lips, Harry crouched briefly to tie his laces before straightening once more. Brushing himself down to make sure he hadn't really killed himself, he trotted down the hallway into the kitchen.

Lily was scraping her plate into the trash, clattering with comfortably familiar kitchen noises. At the table in the centre of the wide room, James sipped his tea as he perused through the paper with the paper spread before him. It was the same every morning. Almost identically the same. Harry had long ago discarded the eeriness accompanying the fact that he always made it into the kitchen just as his mother finished her breakfast and his father turned to page three. That was just the way it worked in their house, regardless of the circumstances.

Skirting the table, Harry sidled past his mother to stick his head into the pantry. His riffling was distraction enough for Lily to drop her plate onto the counter and turn towards him.

"A proper breakfast would be more suitable," she chided him before he'd even emerged.

"No time," Harry said, plucking a box from a shelf and squinting at it briefly before discarding it. "I overslept."

"You don't say," James said with an overloud slurp.

"Don't blame me. You could have woken me up."

"Wake yourself. That's what alarm clocks are for."

Harry grumbled, snatching a half-eaten packet of Hobnobs off the shelf. He turned and almost crashed into Lily where she'd appeared behind him. They were of a height but her raised eyebrow and the way she planted herself with a grounded stance always made her somehow taller than him.

"Proper breakfast," she repeated.

Harry grumbled again, shoving a biscuit into his mouth. "Do you want me to be late for the bus?" he asked, even as Lily turned away from him.

She was turning back in a moment, a plate and two slices of toast presented with a raised eyebrow. He never noticed when she had one prepared, as she did at least once a week. "It won't kill you to spare an extra second or two."

"But I'm –"

"You're not stepping out of my house having eaten only that crap."

"Swear jar," James muttered.

"'Crap' isn't a swear word," Lily said, shooting him a glance. "It's a perfectly suitable description of your bloody biscuits."

Smirking, because his mother was so full of shit but he loved her only all the more for it, Harry accepted the plate from where his mother nudged him with it. Lily was the backbone, the brains, and the heart of their house; what she said was law. Harry had long ago discovered that her ferocity extended above and beyond overprotectiveness.

"You know," he said, taking a bite thickly lathered in peanut butter.

"Harry," Lily said warningly, as though she knew what he was going to say.

"I'm just saying, peanut allergies are a serious problem in schools." He grinned through his mouthful, ducking slightly as Lily swatted his head. "Just saying. You know, for reference. Could be useful for you for work."

Lily shook her head but otherwise didn't comment. She knew better than to respond to Harry's teasing; she'd spent the last seventeen years of her life married to James, after all. Like father like son.

"Where are you glasses, by the way," she said, turning away from him with the stolen Hobnobs in hand.

Harry folded half a piece of toast into his mouth, skirting the table once more to where he'd discarded his school bag the previous afternoon. "Ah, yeah. That."

"That?" James smirked as he glanced up from his paper, peering over the rim of his own glasses.

"Lost 'em."

"Again?"

"I can't be blamed for not keeping tabs on every item I own," Harry said, juggling his second piece of toast as he shrugged into his backpack. "I'm a teenager. It's my prerogative to be careless and forgetful."

"One might think you'd be more attentive to something that helps you see properly every single day."

"Speak for yourself." Leaning across the table, Harry snatched his dad's glasses off his nose and shoved them on his own face. "I'm stealing these for the day."

"Oi."

"I need them more than you do. My education is important."

"And my work isn't?" James asked, squinting in the absence of his lenses.

"Not as much." Harry grinned. "Just ask Mum. She'll back me up."

"James, use your spare pair for today," Lily said, not even glancing up from stacking the dishwasher.

"Love you, Mum."

"And Harry, your replacement pair is going to come out of your allowance for the next few months unless you can find your old ones."

"Well, fuck."

"Don't swear."

James shot Harry a triumphant grin as he bypassed his mother one final time to plant a kiss on her cheek. Habit made him kiss the pale scar hashed across her cheekbone. She smiled at him fondly as he turned away. "You look like your dad when you wear them," she said.

"Perish the thought," Harry said with an emphatic shudder. "I definitely need to find my own again, then."

"Call it incentive," James called after him as Harry ducked into the hallway. "See you later, Bambi. Call if you end up missing the bus."

"Will do," Harry called in reply. "Later." He was out the front door and trotting down the front steps before the words even left his lips.

Potting Point was only sleepily awakening, despite it being nearly eight o'clock. That was just how it was. Though one of the larger cities in the region – which was likely the only the reason it was deemed a city rather than simply a town – the quietness and retired nature of the majority of its residents seemed to all but demand a late start. Could Harry be blamed for emulating such a habit when he'd spent his whole life living there?

Hurdling over the low-lying gate rather than bothering with the latch, Harry continued at a trot down the footpath. Essington Avenue was as quiet as the best of the streets in the city. Harry caught sight of his neighbour, Mr Burrows, backing with his usual infinite care from his driveway, but otherwise every other house appeared to be fast asleep.

It was a little boring, if anything. Or so Harry had always thought. Potting Point wasn't exactly the hub of northern England. One might think that the proximity to the Scottish border and the coast barely a handful of kilometres in either direction might be conducive to some kind of excitement, but no. Potting Point wasn't like that. Harry was convinced that the mayor of the town actively sought to avoid even the slightest taint of excitement.

School was, by and large, one of the most interesting things a teenager could do around town, which was more than a little disheartening. Still, it actually made Harry regret that he had such a lethargic struggle to wake in the morning; if nothing else, at least seeing his friends was interesting.

Only the distant hum of the occasional passing car accompanied Harry's jog towards the bus stop. He was definitely running late, but turning the corner at the end of the road, could he really be blamed for stopping at the fence of number eleven? The lumbering labrador, tail thumping in greeting as it did every morning, was a greeting Harry couldn't bypass, even at the risk of missing the bus entirely.

"Hey, buddy," he said, slinging an arm over the fence. He scratched the dog's head, kneading his ears. "How's it going?"

The dog huffed, tongue lolling.

"I should probably take PJ for a walk this afternoon," Harry reminded himself aloud. "What kind of an arsehole big brother am I that I don't even wish my dog goodbye in the morning?"

The lab didn't reply, but Harry didn't really expect him to. Potting Point was quiet to the point that it threatened a drift towards idleness-induced insanity, but he wasn't so far gone as to start sincerely talking to dogs. A final pat on the head, and Harry was starting down the footpath once more.

And promptly missing his bus.

Harry saw it in the distance. Turning the final corner to the bus stop, he caught sight of the bus as it hissed and groaned, lumbering into motion after picking up its thin scattering of passengers. Drawing to a stop at the corner with a sigh, Harry watched his ride pull away.

"Goddamn it," he muttered. "I'm blaming Mum when I get home."

It was his own fault, of course. He _could_ have put his alarm clock on, even if he did sleep through it most mornings. He _could_ have climbed from bed when he'd actually awoken, rather than resisting his obligations and rolling into his pillow for another half an hour. He could have moved faster, spent less time scrambling around for his spare pair of glasses.

He probably could have avoided stopping to chat with the labrador, too, but… well. Priorities.

But he hadn't. And now he'd missed his sodding bus. Huffing, Harry glanced over his shoulder at the route back home, pursed his lips, and considered momentarily using his mobile phone to call James. It was at least part of the reason he had it at all when most kids at his school barely knew how to use one. A very small part, admittedly, because Lily's intense overprotectiveness had done most of the work in deciding it was a necessity.

But Harry disregarded the thought before it could properly settle. His dad would be heading down to the station any minute, and his mum usually picked up her colleague on the way to the office, so would be leaving soon too. Harry wasn't quite so oblivious as to think that their detour to drop him to school wouldn't be an annoyance they'd willingly endure; he might joke with his parents, but he wasn't quite so self-absorbed.

So instead Harry sighed. He turned back to the bus stop, contemplated for a moment, then broke into a run. Harry knew he was fast. Very fast. James even jokingly claimed it was the source of his nickname, because he was 'short, gangly, and ran like a deer', which was bullshit because Bambi had been his nickname since he was a baby, but it wasn't worth challenging his father when he only winked away the excuse.

Besides, James was right in that regard. Harry didn't think he was especially skilled at many things but running he could do.

Shucking his bag high onto his shoulders, Harry flew down the footpath in the direction of his school. If he ran fast enough, he might even beat the bus. It wasn't unfathomable; it had happened before in almost identical circumstances. If anything it felt like a challenge that picked up his speed with each step, a challenge that added a spark to properly awaken him for the first time that morning.

Such was the life of an ordinary teenager in Potting Point. Even with its feeble trials that were barely trials at all, Harry knew it was a bloody good life.

* * *

He almost beat the bus. Almost. Probably would have, too, had a stomach full of toast not assaulted him with a cramp three streets away from the school.

When Potting Point High School – named solely because, of only three high schools in the city, it was the first established and absolutely no other reason – drew into view, Harry stumbled to a stop. He saw his bus and its passengers unloading on the curb at the gates, saw the vaguely familiar faces of students he rode with every day chattering amongst themselves as they climbed the steps.

The grey-walled school was unremarkable at best, and utterly plain, simple, and as quiet as the rest of Potting Point if Harry was being honest. The street, named after the school itself, was similarly muted, unremarkable, and mostly populated with cars from the students who had their licence. The minute grassy patch that could barely be deemed a sports field was abandoned and mostly dirt. Some council minister years ago had thought it would be a good thing to stick it like an additional appendage onto the side of the school 'for use by students and to benefit school sports', but it rarely functioned as much. The school's athletes were about the only people who stepped onto the religiously mown grass.

All of it was plain. Plain and boring and not because Harry had been attending the school for five years already. Potting Point didn't do 'exciting', and that commitment was embraced by its schools, too. The most adventurous it ever got was the occasional disco and the Year Twelve Muck-Up Day, which largely consisted of said year twelfth students simply roaming the open corridors of the school and making noise.

It was rousing. Truly. Harry found it almost as exciting as repeatedly knocking his head against a brick wall.

So when he trudged into school, it wasn't with any anticipation of beholding anything of interest. The empty windows of the nearest building, the concrete grounds, the occasional car chugging down the road alongside him – unremarkable. Which made it only more surprising when, passing through the gates, Harry heard an unexpected outburst.

He glanced over his shoulder and paused in step. Appearing as if from nowhere, a veritable horde strode towards him down the path he'd just trodden. As he watched, a tall, thin-faced, and severe looking woman in an ankle-length dress led the way towards the gates, back straight and gaze trained unwaveringly upon the school. Behind her, the cluster of what could only be students given their matching uniforms trailed with less rigidity, voices raised and heads turning to glance around themselves as though drinking in the utterly boring sights of Potting Point High Street.

Harry couldn't help but be captured. Interest was a rarity not likely to be missed. He didn't recognise the uniforms, didn't know the woman who led her troupe of what had to be barely forty kids of about Harry's age, and that made it a curiosity. He couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to.

He was still watching as she and her horde drew into the arms of the gate and stared up at the school. A few of the kids glanced towards Harry, and Harry stared unabashedly back at them. No, definitely no recognition, which was unlikely of city residents his age. Even the kids from the other two high schools in the city were all familiar faces. It was only when the woman turned towards him that he was able to drag his attention from them.

"Excuse me, young man," she said, a Scottish lilt to her tone. "Would you be able to point us in the direction of the primary office building?"

Harry stared at her blankly for a moment. Then realisation dawned and suddenly it all clicked into place. "Oh! You're from the exchange school." Then he bit his tongue and winced. His dad always told him he had a penchant for being too enthusiastic upon meeting people, though he'd never hinted that it was a problem. He didn't need to; Harry knew many didn't take to such an approach.

The woman blinked. For a moment, she stared at Harry contemplatively. Then she nodded. "We are indeed. I take it you must be a sixth form student at this school?"

Harry nodded and couldn't withhold a smile markedly more enthusiastic than he'd felt about anything related to school in months. Potting Point High School was boring – but this was kind of a little bit exciting. Kind of.

Barely a week into the school year, the sixth form students taking Communication and Culture for their A-levels had been pulled aside and informed that the principal of the school had decided to try something new that year. As students clearly already weighted by the stress of their final year and exams, it was apparently deemed a good idea to load even more onto their plates.

New and exciting, maybe. Astute and reasonable for kids with a sixth form workload? Not so much.

Despite its novelty, Harry had almost forgotten since he'd been told. His C&C teacher had left a note on the corner of the blackboard but besides that it hadn't spoken a whisper of it. It was only with their arrival that Harry actually recalled the 'something knew' was beginning that day.

Apparently, the visiting school from up north wasn't all too _au fait_ with the situation either. The leading teacher didn't even know where the office was? Shouldn't that have been scouted out a little in advance? Didn't they organise meeting someone upon arrival?

Or what about a courtesy call? A little bit of prior warning would certainly have made sense. Classes hadn't even started yet.

Deliberately disregarding the hushing of voices from the out-of-town students, Harry nodded to the teacher. "Yeah, I'm doing C&C, so… I mean, yes. Mrs Joyce told us you'd be coming today, so…"

He trailed off, peering up at the woman expectantly. She regarded him with equal expectancy in reply, leaving Harry to shift awkwardly. He spared a glance towards the students behind her before returning his gaze. "Would you like me to go and get Mr Hastings for you?"

The teacher blinked. "You could not simply take us to the headmaster's office?"

"It's kind of a winding route," Harry explained. "And a rabbit warren, so – I mean, if you wanted to bring everyone with you, you could, but it would be easier if I bring him to you. Probably."

Harry almost winced again. He was hardly the poster boy of the school. Far from it, in fact, given that most of his classmates all but hated him. He didn't think that his greeting of their visitors was exactly a good way to start things, nor that he'd done a particularly good job of presenting himself. He had no particular loyalty for his school but good impressions mattered even on an individual level.

But the teacher didn't appear to realise that. Or maybe she didn't care. Most likely she was as oblivious as Harry was, which wasn't how school excursions and curriculum activities were supposed to be conducted, but what did he know of school operations? He'd only attended them for the past twelve years of his life.

The teacher seemed to consider his words for an unnecessarily long moment. Finally, to the sound of whispers erupting behind her and more sidelong stares at Harry, she nodded curtly. "Well, you seem to have a grasp of the situation," she said.

_Not even close_. "Sure, Ms…?"

"McGonagall," the teacher supplied. "And you are…?"

"Harry Evans," he replied.

"Mr Evans." Another pause followed, a moment upon which Ms McGonagall stared at him, a slight from forming on her brow, before continuing with her previous curtness. "If you would, could you be so kind as to inform Headmaster Hastings that the Hogwarts exchange students have arrived?"

Hogwarts. Right, that was the name. Mrs Joyce had absentmindedly left just who they would be corresponding with off the board in her minimalistic note. "Sure," Harry said. "Would you like to just wait here or should I…?"

"We shall remain here," Ms McGonagall said. "Although, if you have no objection, I'll be sending a prefect or two with you."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, if you'd like."

Ms McGonagall was turning away from him even before Harry had agreed, scanning her pool of waiting students. "Granger," she barked. "Weasley."

In an instant, the two requested students appeared as though they'd teleported to the front of the crowd. A fuzzy haired girl with slightly overlarge front teeth and a ridiculously tall, gangly boy with a smattering of freckles across his nose.

"Mr Evans will take you to the Headmaster's office," Ms McGonagall said. "Accompany him and explain the necessities of the situation, if you would."

"Yes, Professor," the two prefects replied in synchrony, and Harry shot them a sidelong look. Professor?

Little enough was known about the students his C&C class would be meeting with for the coming few months. They were from up north, over the border into Scotland, and they were a boarding school. They supposedly wished to extend their reaches and community immersion by interacting on a more personal basis with some of the nearby schools.

Harry supposed that nearby was a relative term. He was sure he would have heard of Hogwarts if it was really nearby. He'd certainly never seen the uniforms before, or which there appeared to be an array. Four different coloured ties? What was all that about?

Not that Harry asked. As Granger and Weasley fell into step alongside him, he hitched his backpack more comfortably onto his shoulder and turned from Ms McGonagall and her remaining students to climb the steps. He couldn't held but spare a glance over his shoulder, though. A group of Scottish boarding school students was certainly a distraction from the mellow disinterest of everyday life in a way that wasn't nearly as frighteningly stressful as the drudgery of A-Level studies. It was… yes, almost exciting.

Slipping into the shade of the old school buildings, Harry redirected his stare towards Granger and Weasley. Or whatever their names were; he didn't think it likely that was their real names. The urge to ask, to speak to them, rose within him as a natural upwelling of curiosity, but Harry bit it off. He'd already blurted out with far too much enthusiasm before Ms McGonagall.

As it happened, he didn't need to speak. As they stepped into the primary office building, the vinyl floors clicking beneath their shoes, Weasley spoke up. "So. Trying to get rid of this bloody awkwardness, are we gonna introduce ourselves?"

Harry immediately grinned. The guy seemed friendly enough, and that avoiding the awkwardness was high enough on his priority list that he would speak up was something.

"Ron," Granger said before Harry could reply. "Try and show a little propriety."

"Propriety? What d'you mean by -?"

"What a way to start." Granger shook her head, turning back to Harry as they began to climb the shallow steps to the second floor. "Sorry about that. I hope you don't think we're all crass."

Harry shrugged. "Are you?"

"Definitely not," Granger said, shaking her head. "Ron's just the exception."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said. "I'm sure he's not that bad. Your teacher said you were a prefect or something, right?"

Weasley – or Ron, apparently – beamed at him widely. "Thanks, mate. See, Hermione? Someone's talking sense."

The girl, Hermione, rolled her eyes in a practiced response that left Harry with nothing if not the suspicion that they knew each other well. No one could possibly demonstrate such resigned exasperation otherwise. Harry knew it quite well himself. He might not have many friends but those he did have? Rolled eyes and one-armed hugs were their primary modes of communication.

Hermione turned back to Harry with a faintly apologetic smile. "Sorry about Ron. I'm Hermione, by the way." She stuck out a hand towards him."

Harry paused in step at the top of the stairwell and took the proffered shake. Ron followed Hermione's lead a moment later. "Harry," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," Hermione said, smiling as widely as Ron now. "Thanks for helping out with this. I don't think McGonagall's really sure of what the procedure is for this. Our school's never done an exchange program of this kind before."

"Yeah, I got that impression," Harry said. "Don't worry, it's probably Mrs Joyce's fault as much as anything."

"Mrs Joyce is…?"

"Our C&C teacher," Harry explained. "Not sure how much you guys know about this thing either, but it's just us C&C kids that's doing it. What course are you guys from?"

Ron stared at Harry blankly. It could have been a trick of the fluorescence, but Harry thought he looked a little uneasy as he shifted slightly between his feet. Hermione, on the other hand, nodding eagerly.

"Oh, C&C? You mean Communication and Cultural Studies?"

Harry frowned. "Yeah. What do you guys do?

"Sorry." Hermione waved a hand as though disregarding her momentary forgetfulness. "We call them different things at our school."

"You call you're A-Levels something else?"

"Newts," Ron said abruptly.

Harry blinked, startled, and almost missed the sidelong glare Hermione briefly shot his way. "What?"

"It's just a nickname we call our exams," Hermione said. She seemed nothing if not annoyed, and with Ron in particular if her sidelong stare was any indication.

Harry was at a momentary loss. Was the name supposed to be private? A Hogwarts secret or something? "Why would you call your A-levels newts?" he asked.

"It's an acronym. It stands for Nasty Exhausting, ah…" Hermione paused for a moment, gaze darting towards Harry, "Woeful Tests."

Harry started at her, then glanced at Ron. In the relative quietness of the corridor, removed from students and staff but for the distant murmur of voices, both Hogwarts students seemed suddenly uncomfortable. "This is a whole-school tradition you've got going or something? Calling it that?"

Hermione nodded slowly at first, then with more vigour. "Yes. Exactly."

"That's… kind of cool, I guess."

"It is." Her nodding grew enthusiastic. "Very cool. That's all."

Harry stared at her. Then he glanced towards Ron again, still shifting between his feet, his gaze switching between Harry and Hermione and lips folded tightly. What was all that about?

Maybe it was boarding school mindset. Or maybe it had something to do with the isolation of that boarding school and what Hermione had indicated - that it was apparently the first time they'd done anything like this. Did the kids at their school really not get out that much?

"Cool," Harry said again slowly, then turned and nodded his head down the hallway. "Anyway, the principal's office is down this way for a few turns then just up another flight of stairs. I'll show you?"

Ron seemed to deflate in relief after that, and Hermione adopted a bright smile once more. Harry gave a mental shook his head as he led them past the photocopying room, an empty staff room, and up another stairwell. He replied when Ron commented upon their school, calling it 'really different to Hogwarts', and smiled when Hermione thanked him once again for showing them the way.

The moment time he dropped them off at Mr. Hastings' door, the bell sounded in a tinny wail through the corridors. Harry glanced over his shoulder, hand raised to knock on the glass, and paused. "Oh, crap. That must have taken longer than I thought."

"You have your classes?"

Harry waved a hand. "It's just Phys Ed and I've already warmed up from running to school, so it's no problem if I'm late."

"You run to school?" Ron pulled a horrified face. "Why would you put yourself through that?"

"I missed the bus this morning," Harry explained, choosing to overlook the correction that he actually quite enjoyed running, thank you very much.

Ron grinned widely. It seemed to stretch across his whole face, all teeth and scrunched eyes. He chuckled. "Sleep in?"

"Something like that."

"Yeah, I feel that. I'm not a morning person either."

"Must've been hell for you getting up today, then," Harry said. When Ron frowned in evident confusion, he explained. "You guys must have been up at the crack of dawn to get here when you did."

Abruptly, Ron retreated back to his awkward shuffling and sidelong stares at Hermione. Really, what was all that about? He laughed in a very different way to how he had moments before. "Yeah, ah, that. It was – yeah, pretty early to get the… to get the bus. But, you know, when duty calls, you've got to –"

"Ron, I think we've held Harry up long enough," Hermione interrupted shortly.

Despite the curtness of her words, Ron shot her a grateful smile. "Right. Yeah. Sorry 'bout that, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "No problem. You guys right to talk to Mr. Hastings and make your own way back down to your class? It's literally just down the stairs, three corridors, and out the double doors."

Hermione nodded. She smiled over-brightly once more. "Of course. Thanks again for your help, Harry."

"Yeah, thanks, mate," Ron said. "Hopefully we'll be seeing you around a bit."

"You bet," Harry said. "You're stuck with my class for the foreseeable future, apparently."

He left the pair of them waving dutifully, turning and hitching his backpack once more. He skipped down the stairs two at a time and was running before he reached the bottom floor. A brief glance towards the front of the school saw Ms. McGonagall's tall, straight-backed figure still standing before her horde of students, but Harry didn't spare long in staring. He took off for the school oval at a quickstep.

For the rest of that morning, Harry didn't forget about the Hogwarts students. He couldn't. They were a little standoffish and awkward from what he'd seen of Ron and Hermione, but maybe that was just a boarding school. And they were more than a little disorganised if Ms. McGonagall's attitude was any indication, but then Mrs Joyce was too, so maybe that was a C&C teacher thing.

Regardless, Harry found himself a little eager for his afternoon classes. C&C was something of a bludge course that he took as much because his best friend took it too, but for the first time he felt a little excited. Potting Point was bloody boring most of the time; even just a little bit of novelty was nothing to turn his nose up at.


	3. Chapter 3

"Ow," Harry said as the weight of a familiar fist fell atop his head. "Must you?"

"I must," his best friend said from behind him. "You made me look for you for a whole half of our lunch break."

"I didn't make you –"

"You weren't at the locker rooms and I bloody well waited."

"I wasn't –? Jackie, we practically always meet outside the library. Why the hell would you go to the locker rooms?"

Turning, Harry slung an arm over the back of his chair, rolling his eyes at the girl looming over him. Jacqueline Larsen had planted herself with her arms folded across her chest, glaring down at him with such affront it was as though he'd truly and intentionally insulted her. She was a tall girl, almost a whole head taller than Harry himself, and she owned every inch of it. Their classmates eyed her sidelong in much the same way they did Harry, but Jackie took their hatred and derision as a compliment rather than a criticism.

"They're all low-life bottom feeders anyway," she'd said more times than Harry had bothered to count. "Why would I care what they think of me? If anything, I'm flattered they dislike me. If they liked me, I'd be concerned about what aspect of my behaviour they found appealing."

Jackie was like that. Objectionable was practically her middle name. She was the one who always spoke up in class, questioning the teachers, and incited hatred as much as love from those very teachers with her left-of-centre opinions. She back-chatted fools who thought to undermine her with slurs flung in the corridors, and in their younger years had made a point of ignoring the bullying that left its marks physically as much as emotionally. The one time their classmates had doused her with a tomato-sauce bottle of diluted food dye had changed her forever.

But not how they'd expected. Jackie had thanked the bullies, complimented herself on her new hair style, and hadn't been blonde since.

Dragging the chair beside Harry's out with a fierce yank, she threw herself down at the table. "I got here early," she said, plucking a sausage roll out of her bag and making a mess of unwrapping it. "Good friends go and find their friends, so that's what I did."

"Even though you hate the Phys Ed locker rooms and everyone involved in the subject?" Harry asked.

"Even then. Though it pains me, I will lower myself to rescue my stupid friend who hasn't ditched the subject already."

"Given I've already put a whole year's effort in, I'm not going to ditch it now."

Jackie grunted. Harry knew she knew as well as he did himself that his commitment wasn't the only reason he continued with Physical Education. It was one of the few ways he could play sports after the football coach had quietly informed him that it might be in his best interest to quit the team after he'd come out.

That moment had stung and was at least half of the reason Jackie made a point of hating the Physical Education department at the school. Harry had confidence in his skills as a footballer; he just didn't think he could manage if even the coach didn't want him on the team.

The fact that Jackie had taken herself down to the locker rooms at all was surprising. Worth questioning, even, though Harry wouldn't ask. Not because they were in the middle of what should have been a hushed library and Jackie wasn't the sort of person to keep her voice down, but because she would tell him if she wanted to. She always did.

So instead, Harry turned back to jotting down notes in his planner. "You got here early today. Before midday must be a new record for you."

"Mm," Jackie said through a mouthful of pastry. "Woke up at the crack of dawn."

"Why?"

"Fixin' my hair."

"I noticed that." Harry glanced at her briefly sidelong. "What made you choose green?"

"Do you like it?"

"Does it matter if I like it?"

"Not really. I'd just make a point of telling you why you're wrong if you didn't."

Harry snorted. "Well, I do. So it sucks for you, 'cause you don't get to prove me wrong."

Jackie grumbled, stuffing another bite into her mouth. She didn't care that she was making a mess. She didn't care that the librarian, ancient Mr. Mann that everyone at the school nicknamed 'The Mummy' for the way he practically embalmed himself in unfashionable linens every day, would splutter and likely kick her out. Jackie made a point of doing exactly what she wanted. Always.

"What's with the glasses?" she asked after a moment, flicking Harry's lenses.

"Do you like them?"

"Are they new?"

Harry waited for a beat or two, making a point of finishing the sentence he was writing before slowly raising his gaze to meet hers. She peered at him over her half-eaten sausage, munching in deliberately slow chews. "Jackie, they're bloody archaic and old-fashioned to boot. Who wears glasses anymore? _And_ they're my dad's. I know you know that, 'cause you always shit on him for them. Why the hell would I go out and choose a pair that's exactly the same?"

"Thank fuck for that," she said. "Otherwise I would have had to break it to you that you really need monitoring when you choose to a new pair of glasses."

"Thank you," Harry said. "Your confidence in my fashion sense are comforting."

"What fashion sense?" She smiled, butting her shoulder into his before he could reply. "What happened to yours, anyway?"

"I lost them."

"Where?"

"If I knew, they wouldn't be lost."

"Did you check under your pillow?"

"Yes."

"In the fridge?"

"That was one time. And yes."

"What about under the bathroom sink? You remember when…"

Jackie knew Harry well. Far too well, he sometimes thought, given that they weren't actually siblings. He had to remind himself of that sometimes, though other times it hardly mattered.

Jackie had grown up an only child just as he had. It had been a point of bonding between them when they were kids, and from preschool they'd joined school together, and then high school. Jackie slept over at Harry's house almost as much as he visited hers, and all four of their parents had remarked on how they lived out of one another's pockets on numerous occasions. That it was surprising, and maybe a little concerning, given that it was to the exclusion of the majority of their peers.

Harry didn't care. Neither did Jackie. They were close, the closest, and that closeness had only evolved into undying loyalty when they'd reached high school. The change had arisen when Jackie had come out to him. Harry knew it shouldn't really have changed anything, but there was a certain bond that formed between having that like-mindedness. Closer still when it was them both against the world. Harry had to wonder if they'd instinctively sensed the truth about one another before either of them had fully been aware of their sexualities themselves; they fit one another too perfectly otherwise. The only other person to really intrude upon the exclusivity of their companionship was –

"You should ask Jill," Jackie was saying, licking her fingers clean. "She'll get Abel to find them for you. Or for her, more specifically."

"That's just 'cause Jill's a sweetheart who asks nicely rather than demanding like you do," Harry replied, folding his planner and tucking it away. The lunch hour never felt long enough, and he could almost hear the precursor for the bell ringing in the air. "But no, I'm not going to abuse the fact that she's the only one who can get Abel to do anything."

"Abel's got a nose like a bloodhound," Jackie said, picking at her teeth. "It would be a crime not to get him to use it."

"Poor Abe. He's terrified of you, you know."

"He is not. He doesn't feel anything so profound as terror. He's practically a blank slate."

"That's a little unwarranted, don't you think, Jackie?"

At the sound of Jill's voice from behind them, Jackie winced. She might not care what most people thought of her, but Jill? It was very hard to be a bad person around Jill. She was the kind of person that incited good from others.

That she was Harry and Jackie's third musketeer was a product of necessity as much as anything. While Abel, an outcast like the rest of them, might allow himself to be drawn into their company out during class hours, Jillian Hayes instead seemed to fit with them. She had her spot, and it seemed to starkly juxtapose everything that Jackie was in the best possible way. She assumed the gaps that Harry hadn't even known existed until she filled them.

Despite her gentle scolding, Jill was smiling when Harry glanced over his shoulder towards her. Her violin case was slung over her shoulder, and her hands clasped the strap. To say that Jill was cherubic wouldn't have been an understatement; she simply exuded an angelic aura.

"Hey, Jill," Harry said. "I didn't see you this morning."

"I was in the drama hall," she explained, scooting around the table to drop into the spare chair at Harry's other side. "My monologue isn't exactly coming along great."

"Bullshit," Jackie said, leaning onto the table and cupping her chin in her hands. "I've heard it."

"It still needs a lot of work," Jill said, sparing her a grateful smile that somehow managed to be self-deprecating at the same time.

"Can we help?" Harry asked.

"Not really. Other than listening to it, there's not much else I can do but tweak it."

"Oh, good," Jackie said. "You can practice this afternoon at Harry's house, then. Bring Abel along, too. We need help finding his glasses so he doesn't have to look like a fashion disaster for two days in a row."

"You're making a bigger deal out of this than is necessary," Harry muttered.

"It is a big deal. I'm embarrassed to be seen with you."

"Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome."

Jill's smile widened as she glanced between them both. "Sure. I'll come. I don't think I'll ask Abel to sniff them out for you, though, if it's all the same."

"Yeah, please don't," Harry said before Jackie could – predictably – object. She scowled at him in silent affront, but Harry ignored her. "How's your morning been anyway, Jill?"

Jill shrugged. "Well enough. Most of the drama kids were spying on the visiting students, so I got dragged into it for a bit."

"Visiting students?" Jackie asked, frowning.

"It's a little bit concerning that you don't know them given you're the one who's going to be working with them over the next few weeks," Jill said a little chidingly.

"I take it you forgot too?" Harry asked.

Jackie frowned for a moment longer before her expression abruptly cleared. "Oh, that. For C&C, right?"

"Right."

"What's all of that even about, anyway?"

"No idea." Harry shook his head, as much at a loss as Jackie was. His brief discussion with the two Hogwarts prefects that morning hadn't done much to alleviate his confusion. "Mrs. Joyce didn't really explain it. Something about inter-school relations and cooperative something-something."

"It would make sense I suppose, given you're studying communication," Jill said.

"Wait, so they're here already?" Jackie asked, glancing towards the library doors as though she could spy them from her seat. "How come I didn't know about this?"

"Because apparently you were distracted with dying your hair green this morning," Harry said. He ducked as Jackie swiped a hand at his head.

"They've been here all day, as far as I can tell," Jill said, fiddling absently with the violin case she'd spun into her lap. "They took a tour of the school with Mr. Hastings."

"There's something like forty of them," Harry added. "They've been here since classes started this morning."

Jackie eyed him. "How do you know?"

"Because I saw them."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Jackie, I literally just saw you for the first time today about ten minutes ago."

"Don't make excuses. You're a shit friend."

Harry didn't take the comment to heart. Jackie oftentimes said such things. They didn't have any real weight behind them, and Harry had long ago been learned to see the jest behind her glare. Jackie loved him; he'd never really doubted that. It helped when the rest of the school at large couldn't stand the sight of him.

Talk of the new school, though, of Hogwarts, got him to thinking. It had been a curiosity buzzing on the edges of Harry's awareness all day. Potting Point High really wasn't big, but he supposed it being the largest in the city gave it enough credentials to engage in an exchange program of sorts.

Was it even an exchange program? What did it involve, exactly? And it was just the C&C class… right? Mrs. Joyce had been somewhat vague on the subject when she'd mentioned it all of once nearly three weeks ago.

Still, it was a little interesting. A little exciting, even. Nothing ever happened at their school, and C&C was an easy enough subject that anything to shake things up was grasped with both hands. Even in sixth form with their workloads ramped up to ninety, it was relatively manageable. Harry didn't really even care who the school was, or that they'd likely want to have little to do with him. He'd come to expect it of kids his age, and of a good chunk of adults, too.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be curious. Besides, while he didn't like that his friends were so downtrodden, but it was certainly less lonely, less painful, to be thrust to the periphery when he had a couple of friends for company.

The bell sounded, echoing through the library, as Jackie had just begun to drill Jill about everything she knew. Jill, being the kind of person that she was, replied as vaguely as anyone could possibly manage without invoking Jackie's wrath.

Jackie paused, open-mouthed, as the tinny bell drowned out her words. She turned to Harry the moment it stopped. "We're heading off, then?"

Harry was already rising to his feet. He glanced towards Jill. "Did you want to come with us today? I'm pretty sure Mrs. Joyce actually thinks you're a part of our class."

Jill laughed. "Do you think I should just take it up for real?" she said, rising to her feet and slinging her violin case back over her shoulder. "I've been to practically all of the lessons. Do you think I could pull it off?"

"Better than most," Jackie said. "You're tagging along, then?"

Jill nodded. "Sure. Abel could probably use the company if you're all working in pairs, anyway."

"You're too nice to him."

"I like him. He's shy."

"Shy, or just a blank slate?"

"Jackie."

Harry shook his head as he led the way from the library. His friends… 'Jack and Jill', his father had once quipped, grinning proudly at his own cleverness, but he couldn't be further from the truth. Far be it from being similar, or perhaps even romantically inclined, as the traditional rhyme suggested, Jackie and Jillian were opposites. Black and white, or 'good and evil' as Jackie claimed, they couldn't be more different.

Harry loved them just as they were. He loved their differences and loved that they were all friends regardless. But what he loved most was that they all just seemed to _fit_.

Harry had been outcast since his first year in high school. At twelve, he'd come out to his parents, and the secret had somehow slipped into the ears of his classmates. School life took a turn when so many looked at him like he was disgusting, or strange, or as though he might contaminate them if he stood too close. And it might have hurt –

Except for Jackie and Jill. Neither batted an eyelid when Harry came out, but for Jackie's "Well, I guess that explains a few things, then." They'd both been in his shoes too and would know better than anyone. The crushing sandwich of a hug they'd given him was a memory that Harry would hold dearly for the rest of his life.

His classmates disliked him for who he was. His coach had all but kicked him off the team for being who he was. He was alone when he wasn't with Jackie and Jill, and that made classes little hard at times. But Harry could forget about everyone who didn't matter when those who did thought he was fine just the way he was.

* * *

The assembly hall was a cavernous room as boringly plain as the rest of the school. High ceilings with dusty beams, long, fluorescent lights that radiated yellow of varying hues for no particularly dramatic reason other than that the bulbs were incessantly faulty. The stage that Jill and every other drama and music kid would be performing upon in their exams was barely more than a raised platform with a poor excuse of curtains and a back room behind a thin wall.

Unremarkable, Harry thought. It was a shame that Potting Point couldn't make more of a show for the Hogwarts visitors. Not that he personally felt he needed to compensate for anything, but if Mr. Hastings' announcement speech at the beginning of class was any indication, he was hoping that the misnamed 'exchange program' would be a long-term commitment.

"I would like to welcome the students of Hogwarts to our school," he said, beaming at the sea of guest students in their worn, wobbly seats. "It is, ah… it's my great pleasure to have you – you, the students, and yourself, Professor McGonagall – joining us today. It is my – no, it is _our_ hope that this initiation will be a, ah… a benefit for all of our educations."

Then he smiled through his toothbrush moustache, as if he was proud of his efforts. At Harry's side, Jackie grumbled something unfavourable which Harry might not feel cruel enough to voice himself but could certainly agree with.

Mr. Hastings was a strange choice for a principal. He was clearly unnerved by the position and just as clearly disliked public speaking. Whenever he climbed up to their clumsy stage, his hands were always clasped together, rubbing and folding against one another as though kneading the nerves from his fingers. His eyes twitched, darting across the audience, and he fumbled his words more often than he successfully linked them together.

Mr. Hastings continued to bumble through a speech, informing his half-hearted audience of how "this was a, ah… an idea concocted by myself – or myself and Headmaster Dumbledore" and that it "could possibly – or it would be our hopes – that this interface might very much assist with the growth of both of our schools".

As if they would care. As if the graduating classes of either school would truly have any investment in the 'growth' of the schools they would leave behind them. Jackie had a thing or two to grumble about that as well.

It was almost a blessing when the guest teacher – or professor, as it were – climbed onto the stage to take over from Mr. Hastings. Professor McGonagall was as tall and straight-backed as Harry had seen her that morning, and she pinned the students of both schools beneath her stare firmly enough that the murmurs that had arisen in Mr. Hastings' speech died at once.

"Thank you for your kind welcome, Headmaster," McGonagall began, her voice clear and precise. "And thank you to the students of Potting Point High School for welcoming us into your school. This initiative, inspired by the isolation of both schools in our respective regional exclusivity, has begun as an attempt to integrate our distinct educational approaches and to compliment one another in your final months of schooling."

Harry blinked up at the professor. She was… certainly literate, that much was apparent. And a bit of an orator, it would seem. It was kind of impressive – or maybe Harry was only impressed because he'd just been exposed to Mr. Hastings. He could almost feel envious of the Hogwarts students.

"Over the coming months," McGonagall continued, her voice ringing throughout the hall, "it has been decided that, for an afternoon a week, students will collaborate in self-contained groups in an effort to pursue independent projects of your own choosing. The collaboration of minds from variable backgrounds will enable a growth in study methods as well as enable you to broaden of the understanding of social and cultural differences."

 _Social and cultural differences?_ Harry exchanged a glance with Jill at his other side, and she raised her eyebrow with the same curiosity he felt. He shook his head, drawing his attention back to McGonagall as she continued. How different was Scotland, and a school quite literally just over the border, that their 'social and cultural differences' were worthy of comment?

It was a little weird, but maybe that was just the boarding school mindset. With the memory of his brief meeting with the prefects that morning, of their stilted manner, Harry suspected he might be drawing that same on a number of occasions in the future. For better or worse was yet to be seen.

McGonagall was the one who explained further - that there was little restriction to their 'group projects' and that the more unusual the subject and culminating presentation the higher their efforts would be regarded. They were to research a topic, an aspect of society whether it be cultural, historical, entertainment, or otherwise, and pool their efforts in an attempt to build a performance of sorts to best convey the key aspects of that subject.

A presentation, hours of work, and an exhibition at the end of it all. It all seemed like a whole lot of unnecessary work in Harry's opinion. Granted, C&C was far from being a taxing unit, and he was up for anything novel, anything to serve as a break from the daily monotony, but simply having his workload added to was… kind of depressing.

Plump little Mrs. Joyce bounced up onto the stage when McGonagall had said her piece. She beamed at her audience of students, particularly showering her own with open affection. Mrs. Joyce might be a bit of a disaster when it came to organisation skills, but she had a heart of gold.

"Alright, then," she said, rocking on her feet. "Shall we dive straight in? I think that this first meeting should be about establishing groups and getting to know one another a little bit better. What do we think?" Mrs. Joyce drew her gaze around the assembly as though she expected a reply. When none arose, she only smiled more widely. "We'll be pairing up with members of our own class and finding another pair from our sister school to build groups of four. I think that's about all the explanation we need, yes?"

"Sister schools?" Jackie muttered as, to Mrs. Joyce's nod of encouragement, chairs scraped and voices rose. "It's a little early to be getting chummy, don't you think?"

"What, are you worried they might turn out to be a bunch of crazy people and we'll have to retract the offer?" Harry asked, rising from his seat alongside the rest of his classmates.

"You can never be too sure."

"You two are going to pair up, then?" Jill asked from Harry's shoulder. "As usual?"

Harry spared a glance towards Abel who had, as always and with no word on the matter, fallen into the seat at Jill's side. He was a quiet kid, incessantly distracted – or maybe that was just his being shy, as Jill had claimed he was. He rarely spoke, and when he did it was in such a hushed voice that it was hard to hear him.

Abel still sat in his seat, eyeing the room with hooded detachment. Harry pursed his lips. "Should I go with Abel or something? I wouldn't want him to be alone."

"Oh, sure, and leave me to flounder," Jackie said, rolling her eyes.

"You're a one-woman team all by yourself, Jackie. You're more than capable of handling potentially crazy people, even if you're outnumbered."

"I appreciate your confidence in me," Jackie said, momentary annoyance displaced by a grin.

But Jill was waving Harry's offer aside almost before he'd voiced it. "No, no, it's alright. I'll pair up with him unless he finds someone else."

"Hate to break it to you, Jill, but you're still not actually a part of this class," Jackie pointed out.

"That's a matter of perspective, Jackie," Jill said.

"No, it's a matter of what courses you signed up to."

Jill shrugged. "Mrs. Joyce doesn't seem to care. Besides," she glanced towards Abel, who was regarding his toes with little mind for those around him. The hall was already rife with chatter and movement. As Harry spared a glance for his classmates, for the Hogwarts students, it was to see them already clustering in pairs. The reluctance to approach students from the opposite school was apparent, but it wouldn't take long. And, as always, Harry knew that himself, Jackie, Jill and Abel would be the last grouped.

People seemed to know. They seemed to sense the outcasts, even without being the ones to initially ostracise them. Harry was used to being a last resort. But Abel…

Maybe Abel was a shy kid, just as Jill had said. Harry knew precious little about him other than that he was quiet, rarely contributed, and seemed content to follow Jill around like a puppy whenever she joined them in C&C. But it didn't really matter that he didn't know him; to an extent, Abel was like himself, like Jackie and Jill, and that made him worth helping.

Partner work wasn't exactly Abel's forte, so Harry would offer him a hand, if he could.

"We could try and suggest working in a larger group?" he suggested to Jill and Jackie both. "So it's all four of us, or something."

"Is this an attempt to slack off?" Jackie asked. "Because with how much homework I've already got piling up, I wholly approve. Good job, Harry."

"Actually, it's –"

"I don't mind," Jill said, as though she truly was a member of the class. "So long as whoever we're working with is nice to Abel, I don't really care."

"And nice to you," Jackie reminded her. Jill only smiled.

Harry nodded. Abel's quietness and Jill's unshakeable goodness always invoked something like a protective instinct in Jackie. In himself as well, he knew, and he realised he was already scanning the surrounding pool of slowly mingling students in search of a 'proper fit'. It wasn't as though he knew anyone, but –

"Hold on." Harry rose on his toes briefly, peering over his fellows as he caught a vaguely familiar glimpse of red hair. He found himself smiling at the sight of Ron half-turned to speak to Hermione at his side. "Jill, hang a second, alright? I think I've got someone for you."

"Sorry?" Jill asked, and Jackie shot Harry a quizzical glance, but he dove into the thick of students without a backwards glance.

Harry wasn't a particularly sociable person. He wasn't quiet or shy like Abel, nor was he politely detached like Jill, who realised that others felt discomforted in her company for foolish reasons and gave them the space they silently requested. But that didn't mean he liked the crowd, or the chatter, or the demands of so many people. He was a mixture of both, perhaps, but not quite either; there was the discomfort bordering on unease, because Harry knew people were deterred by him almost as soon as they got to know him and the reason the rest of his peers ostracised him. And there was the touch of guilt, too, the same as Jill felt; if people didn't want to be in his company, Harry didn't like to force them.

It could be awkward, discomforting, so Harry avoided most interactions in a way different to Jackie's disregard. But partner work called for extenuating circumstances, and Harry might not be _close_ to Abel, but he had few enough real friends as it was. It was worth sticking his neck out just a little to lend a hand.

As it turned out, awkwardness and reluctance weren't really necessary. When Harry approached the pair of Hogwarts prefects, Ron was enthusiastically agreeable. Hermione, too. They both smiled brightly at him, waved a greeting and without fanfare followed him back towards his friends. It was a slightly unexpected turn of events given that they were prefects, and that clearly meant they were above and out of Harry's league of anyone even potentially friendly. Clearly they hadn't picked up on the derisive undertones just yet.

For the moment, that expected concern hardly mattered. What was important was that Harry had snagged a pair of potential partners for Jill and Abel. He wove back towards where he'd left them on the outskirts of their classmates, Ron and Hermione trailing in his wake. Jackie was still peering after him with a frown, and Jill's eyebrows rose at his approach.

"Jill, Jackie, this is Ron and Hermione," Harry said, introducing them easily. "I met them this morning."

"You met them?" Jackie said before anyone else could get a word in. "Is there any other curiosities you've encountered today that you'd care to share with me?"

"Jackie, get off your high horse. I just forgot."

"You forgot?"

"So sue me."

"Oh, I intend to."

"It's nice to meet you," Jill said, stepping towards the two Hogwarts students before Jackie could retort further – which she would. Jackie always had something to say. Harry turned back towards them a moment later to find Ron smirking and Hermione's eyebrows risen, a slight smile playing across her lips.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"No problem," Ron said. "It's all good. So… Jill, right?" He accepted the hand Jill offered, matching her smile with one of his own. "We're gonna be a partnered group?"

"Ideally," Jill said, once more pointedly overlooking the fact that she wasn't truly a member of the class.

"Wonderful," Hermione said, and she sounded like she really meant it. The way she too shook Jill's hand was almost too enthusiastic, but she sounded like she whole-heartedly meant it when she continued with, "I'm really looking forward to this project."

"Are we allowed to work in groups of three?" Ron asked.

"Actually," Jackie said, "you'll go with Jill and Abel."

"Abel?" Ron asked, glancing towards where Abel all but huddled behind Jill. He retreated further with Jackie's gesture.

"Oh, we will?" Hermione said. Harry couldn't wholly discern whether she was indignant or amused by Jackie's presumption.

Jackie clearly didn't care either way, which wasn't surprising in the least. "So long as you're not evil bastards or anything, it'd be better if you guys went together. They're not evil, are they, Harry?"

"As far as I'm aware, no," Harry replied, sparing Ron and Hermione a briefly apologetic glance. Jackie's wore bluntness and tactlessness like a comfortably gaudy coat; she didn't ever seem to know when etiquette suggested she dress in something less of an eyesore.

Ron didn't appear to mind. If anything, he only seemed amused, which Harry supposed was a good thing. Hermione was visibly more dubious, but she wasn't denying the suggestion.

"I swear we'll try and keep our evil under wraps," Ron said, still grinning.

"You do that," Jackie said, somehow making it seem a threat. She leant around Jill and tugged on Abel's shoulder where, as usual, he'd all but disappeared in plain sight. "I'd appreciate it if you'd not be assholes to Abel, because he's sensitive, and Jill, because she's an angel and doesn't deserve any shit."

"Jackie," Jill said chidingly, while Abel muttered a barely audible, "'M not sensitive."

"Of course," Ron said, though Hermione still eyed Jackie shrewdly. "I'll take a solemn oath if you want."

"Just the promise of your firstborn would suffice," Jackie said.

Ron blinked. Hermione's eyebrows rose. Harry rolled his eyes, shook his head, and made a point of shouldering Jackie behind him before she could do anymore damage. "Ignore her. You won't have to work with her."

"Unless you –" Jackie began.

"Thanks for this," Harry overrode her.

Hermione's scepticism seemed to retreat with his words. Her smile returned. "No problem. You'll have to find partners yourselves, though."

"Eh, we'll find someone," Harry said with a shrug. It was only half true, because Harry had been on the side of singularity in group work situation more times than he could count. He didn't mind it so much anymore, and hardly considered it would be the worst thing in the world should he and Jackie have to work as only a pair.

"You could try and grab Seamus and Dean," Ron said, casting a glance over his shoulder. "Or maybe Neville, if you'd like. I think he was partnered with Hannah."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, anyone with a red and gold tie is from our House, so we're all pretty friendly with them. We could vouch for them."

Harry had noticed the ties. It seemed a little strange and inexplicable, that there was such a wealth of diverging uniforms. He knew that some schools disregarded uniforms entirely for A-Level students, while others were markedly more lax. Potting Point High wasn't one of those schools, but Harry wasn't unaware.

The Hogwarts uniforms, though – there was apparently some meaning behind the colour discrepancy. Ron and Hermione wore red and yellow – or gold, as Ron had said, though the distinction was miniscule at best – which likely meant something too.

Naturally, Jackie asked. "Red and gold? Like you guys? What's that all about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," Hermione said with hasty disregard as Ron made to reply. "It's just the dormitory system. Our house – the red and gold – we just happen to know a little better."

She smiled, but Jackie, as objectionable as ever, grew only more apparently suspicious with her explanation. "Right," she said. "What's wrong with the other colours?"

"Nothing's wrong with –"

"Some of them are right bastards," Ron said, overriding Hermione. His words weren't enough to overwhelm the chatter of students around them, but a few Hogwarts heads turned. "As a heads up, steer clear of the green and silver."

Jill, who had been murmuring quietly to Abel, glanced towards him. "Why's that?"

"Because they're the bastards," Ron explained, wrinkling his nose.

"Isn't that a bit of a generalisation?"

"Not at all. They're practically all purebloods, so –"

"Aristocratic," Hermione corrected him, even as Jackie opened her mouth once more. "You could say they're, ah… upper class?"

"Wonderful," Harry said. His gaze drew to a cluster of said green and silver students decidedly removed from the rest of the room. They seemed about as ostracised as Harry and his few friends were, if in larger numbers. "Condescending, then?"

Jill frowned. "I don't think it's right to assume…"

"Definitely," Ron said, nodding vigorously and all but ignoring Jill as she trailed off. "Steer clear. They're all snarky gits."

"Ron," Hermione sighed. Harry noticed she didn't quite correct him, though.

"That's all well and good," Jackie said. "We appreciate the honestly, even if it is unwanted." She ignored Harry's elbow into her ribs. "You guys all set? Harry and I need to fish for some rejects."

"Rejects?" Hermione asked.

"It's often better not to question it," Jill said.

If she explained further, Harry wasn't sure. Jackie slung an arm around his neck a moment later, tugged him into her side, and was diving into the rapidly segregating students before Jill could utter another word. He spared a glance over his shoulder to find Jill fluttering her fingers after them and Ron and Hermione following their retreat with something like bemusement.

Harry wasn't surprised. Jackie oftentimes induced such a response, or at least when she wasn't provoking open disgust and repulsion.

As it happened, in the moments that Harry had been fishing for Jill and Abel, most of the rest of the rest of the students had settled themselves into comfortable quartets. He scanned his surroundings, not particularly bothered, but felt the need to highlight the fact to Jackie nonetheless. "Well, looks like we'll probably be alone again. Shame, that."

"Shame," Jackie said, shooting him a smirk. "Though don't count your chickens before they hatch, Harry." Then she picked up her pace and, arm still around him, he almost tripped after her through the milling crowds of students.

As it happened, he had been counting too early. And Jackie had her targets in sight.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said, rolling his eyes as she dragged him to the opposite end of the hall. "You're completely ignoring everything that Ron and Hermione just said."

Jackie shrugged, but she was grinning, blatantly satisfied with herself. "I don't know them. How can I know they're telling the truth about the green ones being assholes? Besides, I've always enjoyed pushing snotty, stuck-up noses out of joint."

Harry couldn't deny that. He couldn't really deny Jackie's suggestion, either, because the cluster of green- and silver-tied students were about all who were left without partners of the Hogwarts students.

Jackie clearly had her sights set as she drew towards a cluster of half a dozen. "So long as we at least have the girl in our group, I don't care who else joins us."

"Are you seriously signing us up to be their partners so you can have eye candy?"

"Of course. I've got to get something out of this experience." She finally unhooked her arm from Harry's neck as she took the final steps towards the Hogwarts students and planted herself before the girl. "Hey. You gonna group with us?"

The girl was just a little shorter than Jackie, but she seemed to loom somehow. Her clipped bob was immaculately straightened, stark make-up lined her eyes, and she regarded Jackie as though she exuded a somewhat distressing smell. If she curled her lip any further, Harry thought it might climb up her nose.

 _That's the type Jackie intends to check out?_ He gave a mental shake of his head. Jackie didn't exactly have a set type in her limited dating experience, but Harry had hoped better than a pug-nosed boarding school aristocrat.

An aristocrat who apparently embodied everything her companions did. The pair of hulking boys, as blank-faced as frozen gargoyles, regarded Jackie with the intelligence of particularly uncommunicative gorillas. A dirty-haired boy stared her down with slightly narrowed eyes, while the dark boy at his side, tall and casually slouching against the wall, stared with open curiosity. The blond boy at the girl's side, similarly leaning with arms crossed, stared with eyes so hooded that Harry could have sworn he was halfway to falling asleep.

Harry didn't like approaching and forcing himself upon people who didn't want his company. It wasn't so much that he was embarrassed, nor was he hurt by any perceived rejection, for such reactions were a thing of the past. Jill had worn off on him enough that, regardless of how his classmates shunned him, he didn't particularly want to annoy them in return. Just because they were rude didn't mean he had to be in return.

What Harry couldn't stand, however, was having some nameless boarding school snobs regarding Jackie like she was shit on the bottom of their shoes. That, he wouldn't stand for. He was at her side in an instant as the girl replied.

"Why would you possibly think we would partner with you?" the girl asked, tone curling as much as her lip.

"No need to be prissy about it," Jackie muttered, eyebrow rising. "I just figured, seeing as you seem to be actively deflecting just about anyone that approaches, you, maybe you'd appreciate company of sterner stuff."

Harry eyed Jackie sidelong. Her words were very… telling. One, that she'd apparently been watching the green-and-silver students before she'd chosen them. Two, that she considered them something of a challenge, and thus appealing. And three, that she clearly wasn't taking no for an answer. Jackie likely would have bitten the girl's head off by now if she wasn't open to the possibility.

"There's not a whole lot of options left available," Harry said before the girl could reply with another sneer. "I don't know about you lot, but Mrs. Joyce tends to swoop in on unpaired groups. It's pretty hard to deflect her if you haven't had any practise."

As one, all six pairs of eyes turned towards him. It was the blond that spoke in reply, his hooded gaze unblinking. "And why would you think we cared about what your professor would impose?"

"She's just a teacher, actually," Jackie said.

"I don't think you would," Harry said. "But I figure your professor might. You wouldn't be here at all if she didn't make you."

The Hogwarts students exchanged sidelong glances that were nothing if not telling. Harry didn't care who he partnered with, or if he didn't partner at all. He assumed that the numbers would be even between the schools but wouldn't be particularly disappointed if they weren't. Group work with only himself and Jackie as a part of the group was comfortably appealing, even if he did find himself landed with most of the workload. Jackie was a slacker like that.

But he had an A-Level to obtain. A grade was a grade, regardless of how he acquired it. Necessity dictated at least some compliance, despite his confidence in avoiding Mrs. Joyce's gentle but firm nudging into partnership.

Apparently the Hogwarts students before him thought the same. He saw lips thin, saw the dark boy raise a shoulder slightly and the blond sniff as he lifted his nose as though scenting the air. The gesture was the same as that of the girl at his side; he was taller than Harry – which wasn't saying much as most people were – but it made him seem taller still.

"It's a valid enough point, I suppose," the blond said. "I've no interest in polishing trophies with Filch tonight."

"What?" Jackie asked. "Is that code for something?"

"Probably a metaphor," Harry said.

The Hogwarts students ignored them. They turned to one another, seeming to communicate with twitches of their patrician features and flickering glances as much as words.

"I'm easy," the dark boy said.

"Lump Crabbe and Goyle together, because I'm not abiding their company," said the dirty-haired kid.

"Agreed," the girl said with a nod. "Draco?"

The blond, glancing towards the girl, pressed his lips together thinly. Then he clicked his tongue. "Fine. Whatever." He turned back towards Harry and Jackie. "You two will –"

"We're partnering with the princess here," Jackie overrode him before he could finish.

 _Princess? Really?_ Harry rolled his eyes to himself. There was no deference in the way Jackie said the word, which he supposed was something, at least. Jackie blessedly wasn't so blindsided by Pug-Nose to see her as being less of a snob than she appeared to be.

"Excuse me?" the girl said, arching an immaculately plucked eyebrow.

"Hey, if you guys get to stipulate, so do we." Jackie turned to Harry. "You have any picks, Harry?"

Harry almost snorted at the way all six of the Hogwarts students reared like indignant horses, eyes narrowing. Did he have a preference? Not likely. He could already tell that it was going to be an interesting few months of correspondence. Whether that would be a good interesting or not, he wasn't yet sure. Only time would tell.

 _I really hope it was just a schoolyard rivalry between these guys and Ron and Hermione,_ he thought, then shook his head. "Hey, whatever suits. I'm not fussy."

"Not fussy?" the girl said, her nostrils flaring slightly.

The blond boy clicked his tongue again. "Whatever. I'll do it." He sounded like he was begrudgingly offering himself as a sacrifice. "And Pansy, please refrain from making such faces. It's unsavoury and doesn't look good on you."

Harry swallowed a laugh. The blond kid – Draco, the girl had called him – clearly hadn't meant it to be amusing, but it kind of was. He shared a glance with Jackie only long enough to roll his eyes. She looked entirely too pleased with the situation.

"We're all set then?" she said, turning back to the Hogwarts kids. "I don't know what the rest of you four will do, but I'm satisfied with this turn of events."

"Would you stop talking?" the Hogwarts girl said.

"Sadly, she usually can't," Harry said.

Jackie didn't even bat an eyelid at his correction. She turned to him, lips pulling to the side as she always did when smothering a grin. "Look at this, Harry. We've actually excelled at something vaguely sociable."

"Excelled?"

"We're making friends."

 _Are you so sure about that?_ "Good for you, Jackie. Your initiative does you proud."

Jackie's smile spread at that moment. "I am impressively forward, aren't I?"

Harry was only absently aware of the Hogwarts students watching them with unveiled distaste. It was that distaste which dried up any lingering sympathy he may have had for them. He might attempt to follow Jill's lead as the kind, upstanding person she was, but when those around him clearly crushed such considerations beneath their feet?

Harry was used to people disliking him. Granted, it usually didn't arise until they'd been made aware that he was gay and unapologetic of the fact, but just because that dislike arose faster than usual in this instance didn't make it particularly exceptional. It was merely setting the groundwork for their proceeding interactions.

Harry didn't care. Not really. He had Jackie in tow, after all, and Abel at times, and Jill when not in C&C. When he turned back to the Hogwarts kids, towards their distaste, he was comfortable in accepting the inevitable.

 _Well, I can't say that it's the desirable outcome, but at least it's familiar,_ he thought to himself. He adopted a smile that had the Hogwarts kids frowning and exchanging sidelong glances. It's just a few months. It wouldn't be so hard. Harry had been surviving though just that his whole life.

Who knew, it might even be fun? New and exciting, certainly, but perhaps some good much become of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING - this chapter contains queerphobia and the use of queerphobic slurs. Sorry about that.

PJ all but shoved Harry out of his path as he scampered through the front door. Despite being nearly ten years old, he had all of the enthusiasm of a puppy. Harry's uncle Sirius said it was because he was a mutt. Sirius always looked so happy when he said that.

"PJ, mate, just hold on for a second," Harry said, hauling the giant of a dog to a stop with a winding grasp on his leash. He endured PJ's sloppy kisses as he bent to unclasp him from his collar. "Gross."

PJ only grinned up at him, tongue lolling as he followed Harry down the hallway into the kitchen. He'd been Harry's shadow ever since James had carried him through the front door on Harry's seventh birthday. That love was never more demonstrative than loving just after their daily walks.

Lily was seated in the kitchen when Harry entered. She glanced up from the papers she'd spread across the table, a distinctly professional air that always shrouded her when she was working hanging over her, but she smiled as Harry entered.

"Good afternoon, sweetheart," she said. "How was your day?"

Harry retrieved a glass from the cupboard, filling it from the fridge, and hopped onto the edge of the counter before replying. His feet propped on PJ as he planted himself beneath him with his usual attentiveness. "School is school," he said. "How was work?"

"Work is work," Lily replied.

"That's explanatory."

"About as much as yours."

"Touché." Harry took a sip of water. "Are you working still? I can go to my room if you'd like."

"If I wanted privacy I could use the office," Lily said, tipping her head in a 'you know that' expression. Which, granted, Harry did. Lily oftentimes worked at the dining table rather than in the office she and James shared. She liked to be at the centre of things, to be able to greet anyone that passed through and keep tabs on them all. She was funny like that.

She wasn't working anymore, however. Tossing her pen onto her papers, she rocked back in her chair and regarded Harry with another pointed gaze. "Come on, then. Spill. How was your day?"

"What's with the questioning?" Harry said. "That's Dad's job, not yours."

"Your dad hasn't been an interrogator for years," Lily said. "And don't try to deflect; it's only making me more curious."

Harry pulled a face. His mother wasn't always home when he returned from school, but after walking PJ he more often than not found her waiting for him. Or working and waiting, as it were. Lily was good enough at her job that she could leave almost whenever she cared to in the afternoon, and it just so happened that she liked to leave particularly early.

Harry was only too happy for the company. He wasn't fond of the echoing silence of the house in his parents' absence, and on the days that Jackie or Jill didn't accompany him home, he appreciated the company. Talking to PJ only went so far when he replied solely in wordless huffing and cocking of his head.

But that day? It hadn't been particularly remarkable, but it was a little strange. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to talk to his mother about it purely because she tended to grow unnecessarily concerned when strange things happened.

It hadn't been bad. Not exactly. But the whole group project thing left something to be desired.

A week ago, the Hogwarts students had come to Potting Point High for the first time. A week ago, Jackie had all but dragged Harry towards the cluster of students his two barely-acquaintances Ron and Hermione had deemed necessary to warn them away from. Harry had barely thought about the meeting again for the rest of the week.

Until it happened again that afternoon.

"Well…" he dragged out, "I can't remember if I told you, but C&C has this exchange program thing…"

* * *

"If you'll all find your groups, we can make a start," Mrs. Joyce announced brightly. Or tried to announce; her voice had never been particularly loud, and with the chatter bouncing through the hall she didn't have much of a hope of succeeding that day.

That afternoon seemed to be more flooded with excitement than the week prior. Precious little happened in Potting Point, so a visiting boarding school, regardless of how weird or stuck up they were, was cause for curiosity. The previous week seemed to have seen the enthusiasm inhibited for some misguided awkwardness or decorum, but this week was a different story entirely.

When Harry had entered the hall, the Hogwarts students hadn't arrived yet. Clearly they'd had some sense knocked into them after their first visit and had withheld their early morning attendance in deference to the lateness of the afternoon class. Or at least Harry didn't think they were there; they seemed to have popped out of thin air with little ceremony or indication the previous week.

Walking in between Jackie and Jill, he headed towards where Abel had already taken up residence in the back corner of the scattering of chairs. Or he tried to head there; enthusiasm and excitement didn't entirely distract his classmates from their usual antics.

A foot stuck out and nearly tripped Jill to a scatter of laughs. Harry caught her and propped her back onto her feet, shooting the owner of the foot a glare as they passed. A wide smile flashed in return. "New glasses, Evans? Jesus, your eyesight must be really shit if that's your choice," was flung after him, and if he'd been less used to the insult he might have been self-conscious.

He wasn't. Not anymore. The insult washed over him and barely touched him.

Jackie shot the speaker a scowl, then shift her gaze towards another who'd flicked a ball of scrunched paper in her direction. "Oh, really mature, Kurt, you wanker."

Kurt snorted and flicked another paper.

"Just ignore him, Jackie," Jill murmured, slipping her hand into the crook of Jackie's elbow. "They'll just keep doing it if you rise to the bait."

"What was that, pretty boy?" the boy at Kurt's side said, rocking back on his hair. He was a meathead, Harry knew. Bloody idiot probably had more muscle in his head than brain cells. "You know I can't hear you when you talk like that. You've got to enunciate your words better."

His words garnered a smattering of glances, though more than a few turned away just as quickly. They were used to the picking and taunting of those particular meatheads when it came to Harry and his friends.

Jill was too, but even after years, she still compulsively flinched whenever someone misgendered her. Kurt and Jacob knew it, too. They took every opportunity to coax a response. Being the kind of person Jill was, she didn't rise to the bait.

Harry couldn't help himself, though. Not when it came to Jill. Neither could Jackie.

"Shut the fuck up, Jacob," Jackie said, pausing in step and shooting him a glare so fierce that, by rights, he should have fallen dead on his feet.

Jacob opened his mouth retort, his friends snickering around him, but Harry planted himself before Jill and spoke before he could manage. "Look, Jacob, if you wanted to be the centre of attention so badly, you could do a strip show on the table or something rather than trying your hand at stand-up comedy. Your taste in jokes sucks."

"Oh yeah, and you'd like that so much, wouldn't you, Evans?" said third member of their party.

"Are you kidding?" Jackie said. "Harry has better taste than that."

"Disgusting poofters," Kurt muttered.

"Hey, poofter's my middle name," Harry said, folding his arms with dramatic affront. "Don't shame me by making that mistake, Kurt. Or are you really as much of an idiot as your poor attempts at bullying suggest? You must be a real moron if it happens literally every other day."

Lips curled. Eyes drew sideways. It was always a little amusing, Harry thought, that they could shift so quickly, backpedalling so frantically, from jeering and poking for attention to shrinking in their seats and avoiding even making eye contact. Targets were far less amusing when they bit back.

Harry hated it. He hated being called a poofter, though he was used to that, but what he really hated was when his friends were picked on. Jackie was strong, and she spat back like a hissing cat, seemingly incapable of not retaliating. She fought to embrace herself when her classmates so vehemently deflected her efforts, and Harry would always do his utmost to help her along the way.

But Jill? How anyone could think that Jillian was worthy of bullying was a mystery to Harry. It had always been a mystery, even when they'd first become friends at twelve years old and she'd come out to him.

"I was born a boy," she'd said, "but I'm a girl. Sorry if that's confusing, but it's how it is."

Jill was, in many ways, far stronger than Harry thought he could ever hope to be, and not only because she never retorted viciously to the insults flung her way. She was a ray of sunshine never quite dampened even before the sadness that danced along the edges. She always professed it was because she had such fierce support from those who mattered.

"I don't think I'm particularly strong," she would say. "I've just got wonderful people around me to help me when I feel a bit wobbly.

Jill never seemed wobbly, despite her claims. Harry doubted it, knew Jill was simply like that, but maybe it was at least partially because of the support. She'd mustered the courage to tell her mother, who had responded with seamless positivity that Harry doubted few enough parents could manage in their day and age. Harry himself was lucky that his own parents had been supportive of him when he'd come out; if anything, they'd been singularly unremarkable.

"Really?" Lily had said, pitching her tone. "Are you sure?"

"I don't think anyone's really knows for sure about that thing, do they?" James had said, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. "But however you feel and whoever you fancy, Bambi, you know your mum and I will support you. Always."

That was it. It was as though nothing else had changed, except for Harry's uncle Sirius' occasional "so, see any cute boys recently?" and his other uncle Remus' exasperated "Sirius, please get your nose out of Harry's love-life".

Jackie had a little bit more of a time of it, but she'd said that the example Harry's parents had set had gone a long way in swaying her own. Harry was glad for that, at least; Jackie deserved to be happy, even if she kicked and fought every step of the way.

His friends, Jackie's perseverance and Jill's unending goodness, were what made Harry hate the ridiculing of his classmates all the more. Harry didn't care so much about himself – not anymore. It was his friends that concerned him. They always would.

To the infuriating performance of Kurt, Jacob, and Leonard muttering amongst themselves and shooting derisive scowls towards them, Jill stepped between Harry and Jackie. She linked their arms together, and without a word all but dragged them towards Abel's seat. She didn't look back and the comfortable smile that naturally regrew on her face was enough for Harry to similarly ignore the slight.

Abel glanced up briefly at their approach. While he wasn't as close as Harry and the girls were, he still frowned slightly, shooting Kurt and his friends a glance as they took their seats.

"It's nothing," Harry said to the unspoken question. "Just ignore them."

"God, I just want to break Jacob's nose," Jackie muttered.

"Again?" Jill asked.

"Look, the first time was an accident."

"He's never forgiven you for that," Harry said, kicking his feet out before him.

"Do I look like I want to be forgiven? He deserved it, even if it was an accident. Fuck, I can't stand them."

Harry silently agreed, and Jill's lack of protest was telling enough. They didn't speak of it further, however. It wasn't worth the effort, not when there were more interesting things to consider.

Like the Hogwarts students that filed into the room five minutes after the bell, Mrs. Joyce bouncing in step alongside McGonagall and appearing all the more ridiculous for McGonagall's stately step. The Hogwarts students had segregated themselves with an invisible line down the middle of the room, but at Mrs. Joyce's words they dutifully rose from their seats and made to search for their partners.

Harry caught a glimpse of Ron – he was almost impossible to overlook with his height and the bright beacon of his hair – and Hermione waved at him before starting in their direction. Harry nudged Jill, pointing towards her. "Your partners are headed this way. Or Abel's partners, actually."

"Mine, too," Jill corrected, smiling at Harry as she rose to her feet. "I'm committed now, Harry."

"Don't you have study to do, Jill?" Jackie asked. "I know we're invaluable company, but why are you signing yourself up to waste your time?"

Jill shrugged. "I guess because it's interesting? Why not make the most of it while it lasts?"

That much, at least, Harry could agree upon. Jackie too, apparently, for she nodded her agreement and heaved herself from her chair with a sigh. "True. Come on then, Harry. Let's go and find us our aristocrats."

"We need a better name for them than that," Harry said.

"Why not just try using their names?" Jill suggested.

Jackie made a face. "Boring. Come on, Harry, before the prefects get here."

Harry allowed himself to be dragged away from Jill and Abel. "Do you have that much of a problem with authority figures that you're scared of prefects?" he asked.

"Scared?" Jackie snorted, weaving through students that, seemingly instinctively, gave her a wide berth. "Not hardly. I just know that if they get into an argument with me then I'm going to have to stick around until I win it. That girl seems like she's the type of person to rise to a debate."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why would you feel you had to get into an argument with her? Hermione's actually alright."

"It's who I am, Harry. You have to let me spread my wings and be myself."

Harry could only shake his head as Jackie powered through their classmates with little care for who she shouldered into. He let himself be tugged along with single-minded intent towards the opposite end of the hall.

Considering it held barely eighty people in what could potentially seat over five hundred, the flurry of movement and flung conversations was disproportionately loud and erratic. It was almost a relief to step out onto the other side of the greater mass..

The four Hogwarts students – because two of the original six had disappeared, leaving only Harry and Jackie's partners and the two gorilla boys – lined the wall just as they had the previous week. They stared at Harry and Jackie as they approached stared at them upon their approach as though they were nothing short of repulsive. Maybe they were to their eyes, Harry considered. Plenty of other people certainly seemed to think so.

"Come on, then," Jackie said without ceremony. "Or do you two intend to act as wallflowers for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Excuse me?" the girl said.

Jackie waved a hand at the gorillas. "Leave B-One and B-Two to their own devices. Come on, we have a presentation to research and write."

Then she turned on her heel and strode off to an empty corner of the hall, snatching up and dragging a pair of chairs behind her as she went. Where she positioned herself with deliberate isolation was so typical of her; Harry wasn't surprised in the least.

He glanced back to the Hogwarts students as they watched her leave, arms identically folded and eyes narrowed. The two big boys actually took Jackie's suggestion with only a final glance at their fellows before skulking away. That left two: Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Harry hadn't learnt much more of them than their names but what he saw of them spoke a story of its own.

Pansy was a relatively short girl, though she somehow managed to appear taller than she was. Short, immaculate hair and sharp, immaculate make-up, her uniform appearing to have been ironed barely moments before. It was clear she was one to promote appearances, and the dissatisfied curl to her lip was telling. The overall impression was something that Jackie had clearly noticed, too; she was never hesitant in pursuing her interest, even if she was the first to admit that she understood most of the time that interest was grounded solely in superficial attraction.

"So, you think she's pretty?" Harry had asked her after their first combined class.

"Even you have to admit she's pretty, Harry," Jackie had replied.

"Actually, I don't. She has a pug-nose."

"Oh, fuck off. It's not that bad."

"Defensive already? Even though she's clearly a bitch?"

"Don't pretend you're any better than me. You're just as bad and you know it."

Harry had folded his lips after that, and not because a retort didn't rise onto his tongue. Jackie was simply right, and he didn't particularly want to acknowledge that fact. Approaching Draco Malfoy, he was made all too aware of that fact. Again.

Draco might have been almost pretty, but he was too sharp for pretty. He was tall, if not quite as impressively so as the gorillas, and carried an air of confidence to him that bordered upon – or perhaps leapt over the border of – blatant arrogance.

He had a pointed chin and a sharp nose. He clearly looked down that nose too, his gaze incessantly hooded and lips pressed in a line when he wasn't speaking in a drawl. He was so pale he likely burned as soon as he stepped in the sun, his hair was barely a shade darker.

And Harry thought he was kind of hot. Maybe just a little. If he wasn't clearly a prat, Harry would even admit that yes, he was kind of hot. In that regard, he was almost as bad as Jackie; Harry almost, _almost_ found himself inclined to defend Draco's blatant aloofness and tangible condescension.

That condescension, as well as Pansy's now-expected curled lip, were in full thrall at that moment. Harry ignored the twinge that suggested he retreat from people who didn't want his company; that was for most people, not obligatory partners in classwork.

"We should probably go with her," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "She'll start hollering if we make her wait for too long."

"Hollering?" Draco said flatly.

Harry nodded. "Believe me, there's no other word for it." Turning, he started across the room without another word, grabbing the backs of another pair of chairs as he went. He didn't glance over his shoulder to see if the Hogwarts students followed him and wasn't surprised they'd barely moved. Jackie's oncoming hollering would fix that if they didn't get a move on.

Arranging the seats in the corner Jackie had chosen, Harry assumed the one at her side. "You couldn't wait?" he asked.

"What, did you need me to hold your hand and show you the way?" she replied. "Hell, Harry, I didn't realise your eyesight were _that_ bad."

"Give me the benefit of the doubt. I'm still adjusting to my new glasses."

"That's a bullshit excuse and you know it. How did you even manage to you're your old ones again?"

"I don't know, maybe 'cause my eyesight is 'so bad'?"

Jackie flicked the side of Harry's head affectionately before turning to the slowly arriving Hogwarts pair. "Sometime today would be nice, you two."

Paired eyes narrowed as they drew to a stop beside them. "We don't get a say on the subject of where we sit?" Pansy asked, nostrils flaring slightly.

"Does it even matter?" Jackie replied, stretching her legs before her and crossing them at the ankles.

Harry snorted. "Says the person who all but ran across the room to claim a corner."

"This is a necessity, Harry, not a preference. I need my back to two walls so no one stabs me from behind."

"You're an idiot."

"It's true."

Harry all but ignored Draco and Pansy regarding them from behind the two empty chairs. Or at least he did until Jackie turned towards them and waved a hand grandly. "Sit, Your Majesties. Your whole looming act isn't impressing anyone."

"Looming act?" Draco said in that same flat tone he'd used before. Or maybe that was just his voice. Did people usually sound so degrading just by speaking?

"You surely have to know you do it," Jackie said. "Sit. Or are the sticks up both of your arses too firmly lodged for you to do that?"

Pansy's lip curled further. Draco's eyes narrowed even more. They exchanged a glance and Harry recognised the unspoken conversation passing between them only too well. He'd certainly seen it plenty of times before and he could read this one as if it had been spoken aloud. _This was a bad idea, partnering with them_.

They did sit, however, whether due to Jackie's provocation or because the rest of the hall was rapidly dividing into their own partnered groups and they were the only two still standing. As groups hunkered down into surprisingly upbeat chatter, Pansy perched like a bird on the edge of her seat while Draco slumped backwards with the languid grace of a snotty princeling on his throne.

Harry gave a mental shake of his head. Pansy was definitely a bitch. And Draco was definitely hot, but clearly also both a bitch and out of Harry's league. Harry knew when to smother his pining. He'd had more than one experience with stamping out crushes that had turned out less than ideal when he'd acted upon them. Rumours didn't always start from nothing. Sometimes they were the twisted adaptations of truths.

"So," he said, brushing off the thought. "Group work. Collaboration. Because everyone knows that working in groups is the best idea any teacher has ever come up with."

"We're not carrying your weight, you pair," Jackie said, stabbing a finger towards the Hogwarts students. "Even if you're useless, you have to do your part or you'll find my foot up your arse."

"Useless?" Draco drawled in his incessantly flat tone.

"For your information," Pansy said chillingly, "I myself am a commendable student. It is you who should be concerned about dragging us down. Regardless of how little we want to be here, I intend to pass this compulsory unit."

Harry glanced between them. He felt more than saw Jackie's eyebrows rise alongside his own. "Compulsory?"

"Unfortunately," Draco said, sparing him a glance that was as disregarding as his words.

"So you're not…?"

"Not here by choice," Pansy finished.

Harry exchanged a glance with Jackie. _Well, this sucks even more, then_ , he thought with a mental sigh. _As if group projects weren't like pulling hen's teeth already, we end up with a pair who didn't choose to be here and clearly don't want to be_. Harry was rapidly resigning himself to the inevitable double workload; reluctant group partners always did little to nothing.

"I'm sure you don't _have_ to be here, then," Jackie said shortly. "Just drop the unit if you're not going to do the proper work."

"Actually, we do." Pansy sniffed. "Some fool on the Board of Directors decided three years ago to make Muggle Studies obligatory for senior students. They're trying to expose us to people like you and integrate –"

"Pansy," Draco cut her off sharply. Pansy fell silent, pursing her lips.

Harry stared at them, confused. "Muggle studies?"

"What's that?" Jackie asked. She sounded more challenging than confused.

"Our compulsory course," Pansy said. "Obviously."

"Obviously," Draco echoed, rolling his eyes. "Pansy, learn to shut up when you should. Bloody hell."

Harry barely heard him. With a brief glance to Jackie, he frowned at the Hogwarts students. "And that means…?"

"Did you just say…?" Jackie trailed off too.

It hit Harry like a foot stuck out before him with the intention of tripping him. Harry felt when Jackie reached the same conclusion as he had. He felt her tense, her hackles rise, and couldn't bring himself to rein her in. Slumping back in his seat, Harry folded his arms and scowled. "So you're calling us… Muggles, was it?"

" _Us_?" Jackie said.

"Are you really…?"

"Does that mean…?"

Harry turned slowly towards Jackie. He might not feel quite the degree of vehement indignation that he saw welling in her eyes like a searing flame, but he felt distinctly disgruntled nonetheless. "I think we just got called plebs."

"Fucking boarding school sods," Jackie grunted. "Fuck, _Muggles_? Is this some new stuck-up lingo? And you're calling us Muggles?"

Draco stared at Harry, then he stared at Jackie. It was Pansy who replied, however, with another sniff. "Well, you are."

"Pansy," Draco said sharply. "Remember what Snape said."

"What? I'm not saying anything. They're too stupid to even –"

" _Pansy_. Show some restraint."

"Too stupid?" Jackie ground out as though the words hurt her to speak.

Harry didn't bother. It wasn't because he didn't feel indignant too, but Jackie had that covered for the both of them. She usually did, and it was that reason as much as anything that he held his tongue. Stuffing his hands beneath his legs, curling his fingers around the edge of the seat just behind his knees, he waited and sat with the simmering beginnings of anger.

 _Fucking boarding school twats. Actually, scratch that, fuck any kind of asshole who thinks they can look down on us._ He pursed his lips in an attempt to withhold the urge to comment.

They were the same. Harry hadn't truly been expecting anything from the Hogwarts students, even if it would have been nice, but no. They were all the same. If not with homophobia and the instinctive urge to ostracise and create a common enemy, people clearly found a reason to shun Harry and his friends.

This time it was prestigious, wealthy superiority complexes. It wasn't really a surprise.

"Now, look here, you pair of stuck-up, pampered little fucks," Jackie said, not quite loudly enough to draw Joyce's attention but enough that Draco's eyebrows snapped up and Pansy reared in her seat. Jackie didn't seem to notice – or, more likely, she simply didn't care. "You sit up there, in your rich little boarding school, and look down at all of us commoners. You think you're so much better than us, don't you?"

"Of course," Pansy said. "You're Muggles."

" _Pansy_ ," Draco said again.

Jackie overrode them both. She jabbed a finger at them each respectively. "You think you're better than us. With all of your inheritance served on a fucking platter and your stupid snobbish names that you think puts you on a pedestal above your supposed inferiors. Well, let me tell _you_."

She reared in her chair herself, and Harry settled himself back in his own to enjoy the show. "Just because you're born with the world as your oyster doesn't make you better than me. Just because mummy and daddy give you everything you ask for definitely doesn't make you better. And just because you've grown up having everyone tell you you're special just because of the family you're born into, because of what you made no effort in attaining yourself, does not make you any better than me."

Jackie stabbed her finger at Pansy once more. "You might be pretty enough to catch my eye, bitch, but you're as much of a bloody cow as every other person who's ever looked down me. On _us_. Don't think I can't handle you."

With a huff, she fell silent. That silence rung beautifully clean in Harry's ears. It was almost difficult to withhold a smirk, especially in the face of Draco and Pansy's stupor.

Draco's eyebrows still sat high upon his forehead. He was blinking slowly, and even without further expression the effect of Jackie's words was apparent. It was satisfying to see; he might be good-looking, but Jackie was right. It didn't mean he was better than Harry. It didn't mean he had a right to feel superior, to talk down to them. Certainly not when he didn't even know them.

At his side, Jackie speared Pansy in particular with a fierce glare for a long moment in the wake of her words. Chatter still rung through the hall, and Harry could hear Mrs. Joyce's bubbling voice from the far corner, but in their little circle it was distinctly silent.

Or it was until Jackie rocked back in her own chair, huffed, crossed her arms, and spoke once more. "Fine. Whatever. You guys do you. If you're so uncommitted to this unit or whatever, Harry and I will just do all the work. I'm not getting a shit grade because of you."

Then she twisted in her seat until she faced Harry directly, effectively shutting out the silenced Hogwarts students. "What did you want to do the project on, Harry?"

Harry stared at Draco and Pansy for a moment longer. Their composure was sliding back into place with every passing second; Pansy's lip curled again, and Draco's eyes narrowed to their previously hooded stare. _Typical_ , he thought, shaking his head. _Whatever. If they really are going to be such assholes about it, I don't have to pander to them either._

Lifting a leg to prop his foot onto the corner of his chair, Harry dropped his chin onto his knee and turned towards Jackie. "Something easy, right? Seeing as it's pretty much just the two of us?"

"Yeah," Jackie agreed. "Something easy."

"Something we're already pretty familiar with."

Jackie nodded. "Definitely. Got any leftover dioramas from younger years?"

"Dioramas?" Harry snorted. "You actually keep that shit you make yourself?"

"Hell no. I was just hoping you did. Your mum when through a phase of keeping your stuff in the garage, right?"

"Nope. I got nothing."

"Okay, then…" Jackie paused for all of two seconds before her face brightened and she snapped her fingers. "I've got it."

"Oh no," Harry said with real concern. "What?"

"It's wonderful. The best idea ever. You won't believe how ingenious it is."

"I'm pretty sure I can guess where you're going with this," Harry said with a sigh.

"Magic, obviously." Jackie grinned. "It's only been, what, a few years that you've been out of practice? This way we could do a live demonstration and everything."

"Jackie, seriously -"

"This is a brilliant plan. Don't tell me it's not."

"Jackie –"

"Your magic and my orating skills? We've got this in the bag, Harry. Now all we have to do is research the theory or history or whatever, all that bullshit about linking it to its relevance in society…"

Harry shook his head as she rambled. Typical. Utterly typical. He should have guessed from the week before when Mrs. Joyce had announced their joint project that Jackie would propose something of a similar flavour. Though they'd both dropped the subject years ago, Jackie had always had a thing for Harry's magic.

Granted, Harry was nothing if not in agreement Or he used to be when he still had the confidence to attempt to impress people rather than tuck his 'magic hands' into his pockets to hide them from prying eyes. In short, it had been fun. Fantastic. Amusing and entertaining, both for Harry himself and for those he performed to. He couldn't even remember when he had first started practicing magic tricks, but in many ways it had been as much a passion of his as his running was, as his football had been.

When Harry was four, he'd startled his mother into laughter with the Spoon Bending trick.

When he was five, his sleight of hand and days practicing 'disappearing a coin' had his father exclaiming. "Look at that!" he'd said. "Your first show of magic!" He'd made such a calamity of it that Harry had almost believed he was serious.

His uncles Sirius and Remus had declared he was a master illusionist when he'd played hide and seek with them because he apparently had a knack for hiding himself in impossible places. His neighbour had nearly called an ambulance one evening when she was babysitting him when he'd 'swallowed' his dinner knife. For each of Harry's friends – with Jackie when they still only kids, and then with Jill – Harry had performed a little trick, a sleight of hand, that had inevitably been the bridge into real friendship as they'd demanded in their own ways to know how he'd done it.

"How did you make me do that?" Jackie had all but shouted after he'd coaxed her into attempting the 'floating arm' trick.

"That's incredible," Jill had breathed, staring at the card that Harry had plucked out of the deck. "That really was the one I was thinking of!"

It was all just practice. All simply sleight of hand, tricks of the light, and habit so ingrained that sometimes Harry didn't even realise he did it. He barely thought of the _how_ ; it simply happened much of the time. Sometimes it even felt intuitive. 'Predicting the future' or 'reading someone's mind' was a matter of further practice and knowing the right questions to ask, but after a while it just sort of… happened.

Jackie thought Harry's magic was fantastic, and she often told him so. When Harry had firmly closed that door, she'd seemed almost as devastated by his decision as Harry had felt himself. Her favour was even greater because, as she'd attempted both at the time and in following years, she couldn't do it for herself. Jill had always smiled benignly and encouraged him for another when Harry absently practiced, and even Abel had watched with something akin to interest.

It had felt nice, satisfying, to be competent at something and to make people happy and just a little amazed when so many around Harry turned from his with glares and scrunched noses. Harry was proud of what seemed to come so naturally to him - but he didn't necessarily want to do a project on it. Definitely not when years had firmly welded that door closed.

"Jackie, magic was fun," Harry said, breaking into her animated spiel that included more arm waving than she likely needed, "but it's the _magic_ that's was fun, not its history or relevance to society or whatever."

Jackie paused mid-sentence. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" she asked.

"Let's not –"

"I could have sworn you objected, but it must have been my imagination."

Harry raised his gaze skyward. "Jackie…"

"You agree, it's a wonderful idea, right?" Jackie beamed triumphantly, and Harry only sighed. Why she took any opportunity to have him diving back into magic tricks he didn't know, but years hadn't quite dampened her attempts.

"Jackie, we don't know jack-shit about the history of magic," he said.

Jackie shrugged. "So we'll learn."

"You? Read books?"

"Hey, that's no more surprising than you reading books."

"I read."

"Yeah. Right."

"I study! And definitely more than you, And I read… stuff."

"Yeah. Right."

"I started to read that one book last week –"

"That _one_ book."

"- and I'm actually enjoyed it, which is more than you can say –"

"Magic?"

Harry paused with his mouth open, abruptly stalled. Before him, Jackie's animation shuttered, her eyes flattened, and a single eyebrow rose. She turned slowly at the same time that Harry did, glancing towards the pair of Hogwarts students across from them.

Thoughts of magic and objection abruptly left Harry's mind at the sight of them. Something had… happened. Draco was naturally pale, but he looked like he'd actually become even paler. His lips were pressed together, his brow furrowed, and he stared at Harry unblinkingly.

Pansy was no less so. Her eyes were wide yet somehow glaring. Her back was so straight it looked painful. She was almost as pale as Draco was, but unlike Draco, her mouth hung open and she stuttered to speak.

"Magic?" she repeated, her voice a little louder. "You talk about _magic_ just – just like _that_? _"_

Jackie tipped her chin defiantly. She eyed Pansy with open disgruntlement, and Harry could almost see the thoughts ticking through her mind. "Oh, I see," she finally said.

Pansy's gaze snapped towards her. "You," she said, her tone abruptly sharp. "What do you mean with –?"

"Are you a conservative, then? Religious, maybe?"

Pansy blinked. Draco's brow furrowed further, and he seemed suddenly to be shaken from his staring stupor. "What?" he said, as drawlingly flat as Harry was coming to expect of him.

Jackie smirked in a way that was far more dismissive than amused. "I know all about people like you," she said. "There's a whole bunch who go to my church, you know. Think that magic is evil and all that bollocks rather than it being any kind of real skill." She shook her head, rolling her eyes at Harry. "So not only are they stuck-up rich people with superiority complexes and boarding school brats, but they're also conservative nutters with a vengeance against magic."

Harry thought it was a bit of a leap for Jackie to have made, but he supposed she would know. Jackie's own parents had raised her in a staunchly Christian household, and it was, to his understanding, a contributing factor to their reluctance to accept her sexuality. They'd overcome it because they were inevitably good people, but some things still seemed to linger.

Harry wasn't a churchgoer, but he supposed it wouldn't be impossible to conceive that some particularly stalwart people might think magic tricks were evil. Those same people probably thought that Harry being gay was evil, too.

"What," Draco said slowly, "are you talking about?"

Before Draco could reply, Pansy was spinning towards him and hissing through her teeth. "Draco, what is this?"

"I don't –"

"They're Muggles, Draco. Muggles."

"Hey," Harry said, interrupting them in a moment of actual indignation not dampened by Jackie's resurfacing hackles. He was growing to sincerely dislike the term, even if he didn't wholly know what it meant. "I resent that. I might not know my magic history but I'm pretty sure commoners used to get involved in magic too. I mean, I haven't really looked it up or anything –"

"Which we're going to remedy," Jackie said firmly.

"Sure. Whatever. Which we're going to remedy." Harry shook the thought aside for the moment, meeting Draco and Pansy's stares of what he could only assume was wariness once more. "Call us whatever you'd like, but magic? I've been doing that shit since I was a kid. Don't presume to take it away from me with your sense of entitlement."

With that, he turned decidedly towards Jackie, dropped his chin onto his knee once more, and ignored the Hogwarts students for the rest of the afternoon. It wasn't hard because they appeared in a state of wary shock.

It could have been because of the mention of magic tricks. Or maybe they really were as Jackie had speculated. Harry certainly knew his fair share of religious families who weren't wankers – Jackie's parents for one, and the wide network of their friends – but there were always the bad eggs.

Naturally, it would be the ones that partnered with Harry and Jackie. Naturally, it would be the already derisive, condescending pair who were admittedly attractive but seemed decidedly less so the more Harry thought about it. If anything could urge Harry to dabble back in his childhood hobby, it was the attitudes of people who looked down upon him and told him he couldn't. He might have stopped in a feeble and inevitably failed attempt to fit in, but years and his friendship with Jackie and Jill had changed him. He'd grown enough to stand up for himself, at least in this instance. Regardless of Draco's jawline and impressive eyebrows, or the fact that Pansy supposedly didn't have as bad a nose as Harry claimed, they were rude. Cruel. As bad as everyone else who dismissed Harry and his friends for being who they were.

And now they had a problem with Harry practicing magic tricks?

If anything, it was that rather than Jackie's persistence that convinced. They would do a bloody presentation on magic. It would be the best damned presentation of the lot, too, and it would be entirely between him and Jackie. Draco and Pansy could sit there, eyeing them like they were demons who'd hauled themselves from the depths of hell, but Harry wouldn't budge.

He ignored Draco and Pansy and their staring. It was easy enough because all they did was stare and hold silent conversations between one another as Harry pulled out his notebook and began jotting down notes and a sketch of plans. He was, by and large, the more competent studier of himself and Jackie – which wasn't saying much given that Jackie was a disaster. Harry wrote as Jackie fired suggestions at him.

"Our school library's shit, so we're going to have to head over to the city library, I think," she said.

"Duly noted," Harry replied.

"Wasn't there an exhibition or something down in Manchester? We could make a day trip of it."

"That was in London, you dolt."

"Oh. Still, we could make a day trip of it."

"It's a bloody five-hour drive!"

Back and forth, and resolutely ignoring Draco and Pansy the entire time. There wasn't all that much they could truly discuss, despite that the groups surrounding them seemed to have more than enough to say. The two Hogwarts students of their group certainly didn't. Draco's lips had thinned so much that they'd almost disappeared, and Pansy was surely getting dry-eye from her unblinking staring.

Not that Harry spared them a glance to check. Not really.

Their class drew to a close in the midst of a Jackie-spiel that had absolutely nothing to do with magic or group presentations. "It's not like I do it on purpose," she was saying. "Microwaves don't come with directions for use for every single recipe, so I have to improvise."

"Jackie, the directions are on the packet," Harry attempted to explain once more, glancing up from the doodles in the margin of his page.

"Those directions are useless," Jackie said with a scrunch of her nose. "How would I know that putting less water in –"

"Which you shouldn't have done."

"- would make it catch fire? It should just make the pasta cook faster!"

"Jackie," Harry pointed his pen towards her, "it's mac and cheese. It's literally the easiest meal to make in the world."

"It's not!"

"It's even easier than toast –" Harry paused, then waved his pen at her again. "Actually, scratch that. You always burn your toast, too."

"Intentionally," Jackie said, swinging her arms where they hung over the back of her chair. "I like the ashy flavour."

"Bullshit. You've just had to accept it because you can't –"

"Students will finish their discussions promptly." McGonagall's voice rang out over the babble of voices, cutting off Harry's words. He glanced towards her, to where she'd planted herself on the poor excuse for a stage alongside Mrs. Joyce. They were polar opposites, even in the way they held themselves. Mrs. Joyce had always worn an unshakeable smile, and Harry thought McGonagall more inclined to being able to count the number of times _she_ smiled in a week on one hand.

"Hogwarts students will move to the left wall, if you would," McGonagall continued without ceremony. "We shall be concluding our afternoon with the sound of the bell."

It was only then, in the ringing aftermath of McGonagall's words, that Harry actually turned to Draco and Pansy once more. They'd edged closer together, gazes still wary, to mutter to one another in a nearly inaudible exchange. When Harry glanced their way, Draco's lips returned to silenced thinness and Pansy her to her wide-eyed staring.

"What?" Harry asked.

Pansy's lips parted, but it was Draco who replied. "You," he said slowly, then paused for a beat before continuing. "What are you really –?"

The bell ringing drowned out his words, and Jackie was on her feet in an instant. She dragged Harry to his own with a hand darting to his elbow, all but knocking his chair from beneath him. "Well, this has been fun," she said, baring her teeth in what couldn't be considered a smile. "By which I mean, I think we could work together if you pair stay as quiet and lacking in participation as you have today. Thanks for your cooperation."

She turned to Harry then, disregarding the Hogwarts students staring at her blankly. The scrape of chairs and surrounding chatter nearly drowned her out. "Are you coming to mine this afternoon?" she asked.

"Can't," Harry said, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. "I have to walk PJ then actually study this afternoon, which you suck at, so unless you'd like to come for a run…?"

"And risk being eaten by that bear you call a dog?' Jackie grinned despite his words. It was no secret she was at least as smitten with PJ as he was with her. "Nah, I'm gonna head home, then. I have a date with procrastination."

"You really need to break off that relationship. It's unhealthily clingy."

They left. To the sound of Hogwarts students clustering against the far wall, the feeling of Draco and Pansy's eyes from where they hadn't moved staring after them, Harry and Jackie swung past Jill and Abel, spared a moment to greet Hermione and Ron, and were headed out the door before their guests had taken their leave. Harry didn't look back.

He didn't think about Draco and Pansy for the rest of the afternoon. He barely even considered their project at all but to ponder what would be the most effective magic tricks to perform for the presentation. Keeping pace with PJ, he chewed over what little knowledge he had of the matter.

 _Houdini could be an inspiration,_ Harry thought, prodding at what little knowledge of magical history he knew _._

A dog barked at PJ as they passed a picket fence. _The rabbit out of a hat is a classic, but I would kind of feel bad for the rabbit. Not to mention I don't even have a rabbit._

Harry paused at a crossing for a car to pass before picking up his feet again. _I guess we could look up the oldest trick in the book and link it to the presentation?_ He considered, rounding a corner. _That'd be pretty cool. I suppose we could even_ –

Harry skidded to a stop. PJ nearly wrenched Harry's arm from its socket by his leash, continuing on a few steps before he'd realised Harry wasn't with him. He returned to Harry's side, peering up at him patiently, but Harry hardly noticed. He was decidedly distracted by the apparition suddenly before him.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he blurted out.

Draco Malfoy was planted in the middle of the footpath. His arms were folded, but it seemed less objectionable that contemplative. The crease on his forehead and the characteristic quirk of his eyebrows had returned from where it had disappeared to that afternoon, and his lips were thinned as they so often were.

And he was here. In Potting Point. After school hours.

"Evans," he said by way of greeting.

Harry shook his head. "Draco, what the bloody hell? Did you miss your bus?"

Draco's frown deepened. "Of course not. I stayed behind intentionally."

"But then how -? How are you going to get -?" Harry cut himself off with a shake of his head. Why did he care? It shouldn't concern him with what Draco was doing here. It shouldn't be his problem if he'd missed his bus and may not have any way of returning to his school. Harry didn't know exactly where Hogwarts was, except that it was over the Scottish border. That was at least a decent length drive away, wasn't it?

But it shouldn't matter to Harry. He didn't care. Draco could find his own way back.

Stepping over PJ's back to straddle him – his agitated pacing often otherwise found him tangling Harry in his leash – Harry brushed the thought aside. "Whatever. I don't even…" He shrugged. "You do you, Draco. You cool if I do me?"

Draco stared at him for a silent moment. Then he shook himself as though to clear it. "I wanted to talk to you," he said.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Yes." Draco took a step towards Harry. "I wanted to talk to you. You'll listen."

It was less of a request and more of a demand. Harry felt his hackles rise in Jackie's absence. He was usually happy to take the back seat when she held the reins but without her? "Excuse me?"

Draco took another step towards him until he was only just out of PJ's lunging distance. "Yes. About magic."

Harry blinked once more. Then he snorted. "You've got to be bloody kidding me."

"What -?"

"Get over yourself, Draco," Harry said. Stepping over PJ's back, he tugged him after him, skirting around Draco.

Only to have his arm grabbed to jerk him to a stop. "Wait," Draco said. "Just _wait_."

Something about his voice had Harry stalling. It wasn't just the demand, because if he _had_ simply demanded, Harry would have set off at a run even faster. It was the touch of something like desperation, almost pleading without actually pleading. He peered up at Draco dubiously but didn't step away from him. "What?"

Draco's jaw worked for a moment. His frown deepened even further. When he spoke, he sounded somehow urgent. "You can't do magic," he said. "Muggles can't. It's not possible, and you, who you are, and the fact that you go to this school, means that you shouldn't be able to do it."

Harry stared at him.

"Don't presume to claim superiority," Draco continued, lips thinning once more.

Harry stared some more.

"I don't know what you're talking about, or what you've heard," Draco said with quiet ferocity, "but to make throwaway comments of that kind is both inappropriate and invalid."

Draco's chin raised slightly, and that was when the fold of his arms became objectionable. For a long moment he simply stood before Harry – and Harry could only stare.

Until his tongue stuttered into incredulous motion. "What the bloody hell are you going on about?"

Draco's eyes narrowed, and it didn't matter that he was hot, because Harry abruptly decided he was a wanker. "You. I don't know how much you know, but it's demeaning to hear you speak of –"

"How much I know?" Harry shook his head. He couldn't help a huff of disbelieving laughter. "What does that even mean?"

Draco clicked his tongue. His demanding almost-nervousness had faded into visible annoyance, which only added to Harry's confusion. "You're a Muggle. You shouldn't be talking about magic, let alone claiming you can use it."

"A Muggle," Harry echoed. He realised he was scowling and did nothing to vanquish it. The word might not have any meaning to Harry, but Draco and Pansy's unspoken connotations were heard clearly enough. Jackie's suspicions murmured in his mind in silent confirmation.

 _Bloody aristocrats with their bloody superiority complexes,_ he thought. He'd had enough. Enough of being looked down upon, enough of Draco-bloody-Malfoy, and enough of being told he couldn't do one of the few things he _knew_ he was good at. Time didn't erase the years of practise he'd committed.

Taking a step towards Draco, Harry planted himself so they were nearly nose to nose. Or nose to chin, because Draco was decidedly taller than Harry and he decided he hated that fact.

"For your information," he said slowly, deliberately, "I can do whatever the fuck I want to do."

"No, you can't," Draco said just as slowly. "You're a Muggle. That you would even consider yourself capable of –"

"Oh, get over yourself," Harry said. "Magic isn't just for you high-born prats."

"High-born? You have no idea what you're –"

"As a matter of fact," Harry cut him off, "m _very_ capable." With a raise of his hand and an age-old flourish, Harry produced a handkerchief from thin air and snapped it in Draco's face. It was a simple trick, one he hadn't used in years, but muscle memory flowing into action without a hitch. Draco flinched away from him, eyes widening.

Harry didn't give him time to reply. "I never had much of a prejudice against boarding school kids before you," he said, making a flamboyant demonstration of tying the handkerchief in a complex knot. "But you're kind of pulling out all stops."

"What're you -?" Draco began, then silenced himself with a startled blink when Harry flapped the knotted handkerchief in his face again and it unravelled in a dramatic sweep.

"Get of your high horse, you arse," Harry said, "and go the fuck back to your prissy little boarding school."

With a sharp clap, he tossed the handkerchief in Draco's face. Draco jerked backwards. He blinked again, flinched again – and then stared at Harry's empty hands. Not a hint of the handkerchief remained.

Slowly, he raised his gaze to Harry's once more. His face had paled to an even whiter shade than it had been. "How… did you…?"

"I don't know what your deal is with it," Harry said, "but us 'Muggles' are certainly more capable of magic than you give us credit for."

Sparing a moment longer to glare up at Draco's ashen face, he harrumphed, looped PJ's leash around his hand, and stepped around him. He strode with chin raised down the footpath and didn't look back.

Or at least he didn't until he reached the handkerchief he'd lobbed with flourishing sleight of hand over Draco's shoulder. When he did, he paused, glanced briefly towards where Draco stood still planted, his back towards him and rigid in tension. With a hint of satisfaction, Harry smothered a smile and scooped the handkerchief from the ground.

It felt good to have fooled the prat who looked down upon him. Maybe there was something to be said of Jackie's attempts to coax him back to the art of magic tricks.

It was all sleight of hand, of course. The appearance of the handkerchief, practiced so many times as a kid that Harry could draw it from a pocket or his sleeve so fluidly that none would notice. The knot tied with such extravagance and such intricacy that watchers wouldn't notice that it was hardly a knot at all, and the unravelling thus miraculous. The clap and the further flourish that 'disappeared' the handkerchief once more in such an affronting manner that the lobbed throw over the shoulder wasn't noticed.

Harry had practiced. He'd gotten good, and at more than simple handkerchief tricks. At times he'd hardly even realised what his fingers were doing; the tricks simply seemed to happen.

It felt good to be so astounding. To be a marvel. To leave Draco standing in a surprised stupor after he'd insulted Harry. Stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket, Harry let himself smile this time as he spared a final glance to where Draco still stood stock still in the middle of the pavement.

He might be good-looking. He might be a guest of the school. He might not have anything much to do with Harry at all outside of C&C. But it did feel good to leave him floored.

Turning, Harry started down the footpath once more. "Well, I feel a little bit better now," he said to PJ, who glanced up at him with tongue lolling. "You could have supported me a little, you know. Bit his balls off or something. You just left me stranded there, PJ."

PJ only grinned up at him, and Harry felt his smile widen further. His pace picked up a little and he found himself almost grinning as he continued the rest of the way home. It might be just a small victory, but in that triumph Harry saw the faces of every single person who had looked down on him.

* * *

"So, it was fairly uneventful," Lily asked, riffling through her papers in a manner of filing understood by her alone

Harry shrugged, rolling his empty glass between his hands. "Pretty much, yeah."

"This is the first time I've heard of Potting Point participating in an exchange program. I wonder why they've decided to do it?"

"I have no idea," Harry said. "It seems a little redundant to me, and a time waster, especially since we're in sixth form."

"It could be beneficial, I suppose," Lily murmured, stacking her papers. "Do you think you'll work well with them? You said they were boarding school students; they often have a different approach to school."

Harry shrugged. Did he think they could get along? Truthfully, he had no idea. Draco and Pansy were dismissive and arrogant, but not in the way that Harry was used to. The 'aristocratic' impression had been so pronounced he could smell it on them. And then there was their startle response when Jackie had brought up his magic.

They weren't weirdly superstitious, were they? Granted, Harry hardly noticed his hands when they acted sometimes, muscle memory performing despite that he'd stopped deliberately practising tricks. Jackie had claimed many times that it "really does look like real magic'", but they couldn't be _that_ foolish, could they?

 _Maybe boarding school really does addle their brains,_ he thought. Then he shook his head. "I suppose it'll be alright, so long as we can decide on a topic to research."

"Any ideas?" Lily asked, glancing towards him.

Harry made a face. "Some. It's convincing the intruders to agree that's the hard part."

"Intruders?" Lily said, lips quivering slightly.

Harry grinned.

He hopped down from the counter a moment later, skirting around the table and heading for his bedroom. Regardless of what his mother might claim, she did need to work in relative silence, and Harry had to study. Or at least make an attempt to study.

He was pulling out his psychology textbook and scribbled notes moments later, questioning for the umpteenth time just why on earth he'd decided to take the subject at all. Thoughts of C&C, of snotty and slightly strange boarding school kids, and of magical superstitions, left his mind within moments. This group project was a long-term endeavour. Or would be for at least the next few months. He didn't need to worry about it right now.

Disregarding the last of his contemplations, Harry dove into the dry, crinkled pages of monotonous boredom. What better way was there to enjoy an afternoon?


	5. Chapter 5

_"The fundamental aim of all magic is to impose the human will on nature, on man, or on the supersensual world in order to master them. To speak the language of_ Schopenhauer _, magic is used in the service of the Will and is therefore -"_

"Hey. Hey, Harry, look at this."

Harry didn't glance up from his book. Sliding down further into his seat, he tucked his heel onto the edge and raised the book higher. He skimmed the written words in a committed search for useful titbits of knowledge. _"… was intent on discovering the secrets of nature in order to secure the prepotency of the individual over life and even over death by means of the philospher's stone or universal medicine -"_

"Harry. Hey, Harry."

" _These ends have proved incapable of achievement –"_

"Harry."

" _\- and the means adopted suffered from inaccurate observation –"_

"Ha. Rry."

" _\- erroneous assumption and false conclusions –"_

"Don't ignore me, you prat."

With a start, Harry nearly fell off his chair. Unintentionally, that was; his unbalance was primarily due to the firm foot that Jackie planted on the edge of his seat and the forceful kick she thrust into it. With a lurch, Harry dropped his book and only just managed to keep himself upright as the chair rocked precariously.

He shot Jackie a frown. "What the hell?"

As self-satisfied as ever, Jackie only smirked widely enough to place her slightly crooked teeth on full display. Leaning over the back of where she sat reversed on her chair, she held up her library book before Harry. "Have a look at this. Isn't it gross?"

Sighing, Harry straightened. The sounds of the room around him flooded back into his awareness from where he'd deliberately blocked it out: the chatter of his classmates and the Hogwarts students, the laughter and babble, the scrape of chairs and the echo of Mrs. Joyce's voice as she nattered to McGonagall in her endless prattle. The spread of chairs in little clusters of four, heads bowed over exercise books or disregarding of work entirely in favour of conversation. The studious vigour seemed to have distinctly died from its enthusiasm of an hour before.

If it could be called enthusiasm, that was. C&C was never a particularly enthusiastic class in Harry's experience.

A glance across the room saw Jill and Abel's group where they sat with their Hogwarts partners. Ron and Hermione had been a good choice for them, Harry thought. Jill had said nothing but good things of them, and she'd mentioned more than once that, though perhaps a little excessively rigorously, Hermione was right on task with their workload. It was a good thing that Jill's kind-heartedness wasn't being taken advantage of by lumping additional work upon her plate. Even more so because she didn't take C&C in the first place.

Harry saw Jill nodding and smiling at something that Hermione was saying. Hermione smiled a moment later, nodding enthusiastically herself before jotting something down in her notebook. They were doing their project on something related to mobile phones, Harry had been told. About how the simple devices had and potentially would change society. It was interesting, even if Harry didn't find it particularly suited to his own tastes.

Magic, though. The topic that Jackie had chosen had turned out remarkably so. Harry hadn't taken much interest in the history of magic before, not even when he was practicing tricks himself. His curiosity had been more for the practical side of things. But this? Their project had taken an unexpectedly interesting turn.

Or it would have been interesting if he'd been able to actually read the textbooks he and Jackie had borrowed from the city library earlier that week. Even better if his partners helped him in his studies.

As it was, Jackie was waving her textbook in his face so closely that it almost clipped his nose. "Lo-ok," she dragged out. "Isn't it cool?"

"I thought you just said it was gross," Harry said, nearly cross-eyed as her eyed the picture before him.

"Gross is cool," Jackie said, twisting the book back towards herself. She leered down at the picture on the double spread. "That's awesome."

Harry peered at the upside-down image that Jackie had become engrossed in. It looked like a mutilation. A violent mutilation, and Harry didn't quite know what an actual disembodiment had to do with the magic trick of 'Sawing a Woman in Half'. He was fairly sure it wasn't supposed to happen like that.

Shaking his head, he twisted in his seat and scooped up his own book where it had fallen to the floor. Butler's _Ritual Magic_ might not be the most engrossing of reads for many people, but Harry was enjoying it well enough. He'd never considered himself a studious person before, but this? This he found interesting. Magic had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember; it was interesting to see where the modern tricks held their origins, even if the 'real' magic was somewhat different to what he practiced.

"You know," Harry said, raising his book and flicking back to the beginning pages he'd been forced to abandon, "I can't help but feel like I'm the only one doing any work in this group."

"I'm working," Jackie said, turning a page in her own book. "What I'm looking up is relevant too because – oh my god, look at that? That's disgustingly wonderful."

Harry didn't even glance towards her as she raised her book once more to show him another black and white picture. "So far, you've gone through three books –"

"Four," Jackie corrected him.

"Four books, and you haven't written down a single note."

"Yes, but that's okay because you've written more than enough."

Harry rolled his eyes and swallowed a sigh, eyeing his notebook half-heartedly. _That's not how it works, Jackie_ , he thought but didn't say, because it wouldn't make a difference to Jackie. He'd never been a fan of group work, and that reason stemmed from the fact that Jackie contributed so little. It was alright when he worked with Jill as well given that she at least tried, and Abel did his part, but just Jackie?

Harry loved her, but she was a right pain in the arse at times. Harry himself wasn't _that_ great at studying.

 _Thank fuck it's actually an interesting assignment_ , he thought to himself, sliding down in his seat and tucking a heel up as he lifted his book once more. "A little help would be nice, though," he muttered, as much to himself as to Jackie.

"It would be, wouldn't it?" Jackie said. She flopped her book down into her lap, she turned towards their Hogwarts partners. "Would you two pull your weight a little? Fucking hell, you'd think there was only two of us in this group."

Harry raised his gaze and peered briefly over the top of his book. It was just for a moment, but he caught sight of Draco and Pansy glancing towards Jackie with expressions so identical that, had they looked even vaguely similar, he might have thought them mirror images. The slight widening of eyes, the twitch of an eyebrow, the thinning of lips – there was a definite wariness to their countenances that hadn't been there the week before.

Or at least not before the subject of magic had been raised.

Harry smothered a snort, diving back into his book. Maybe they were just religious. Or maybe they had another stigma against the subject that they didn't feel inclined to share. Harry didn't know, and he was finding that he cared less and less as their shared afternoons progressed. Draco might be good-looking, and he might have perfect eyebrows, and he might be wonderfully tall and have perfect hair that Harry could never manage – but Harry didn't care. Not really.

 _Just because he's hot doesn't mean he has the right to be an arse_ , Harry had reminded himself several times over the past weeks. Maybe a few more times than several.

Jackie was still staring pointedly at the Hogwarts pair, and Draco and Pansy were in turn still regarding her warily, when the bell finally sounded. Straightening in his seat, Harry closed his book with and stood. Jackie, predictably, had already leapt to her feet.

"I've got the books, Harry," she said, scooping up the pile of hardbacks placed between their chairs with more dedication that her study efforts suggested she was capable of. "That means that you two need to take care of the chairs."

Her words were flung towards Draco and Pansy, both of whom immediately adopted identical expressions of raised eyebrows and parted lips. Jackie likely didn't see them however, striding across the room towards the exit without a backwards glance.

Harry shrugged, bit back a smile at her antics, and shrugged for Draco and Pansy's sake. "Thanks?" he said, nodding to the chairs before he followed in her wake. He didn't feel as guilty as he perhaps should have as he wove through his slowly rising classmates. He was the only one who'd done any work, after all. Draco and Pansy seemed to have been having an entirely silent conversation between them that apparently consumed their entire attention.

The aristocratic twats.

Jackie was the first student out of the hall but Harry wasn't far behind her. He found her halfway down the corridor, leaning against the wall with the textbooks stacked alongside her and chewing on an apple.

"Sustenance?" Harry said. "From all the hard work you've done today?"

Jackie grinned through a mouthful. "Brain food."

"Like you need it. You don't use yours."

"I resent that."

"But you can't deny it."

"True."

Harry laughed. When Jackie held the apple out to him, he didn't hesitate to take a bite himself. That was the kind of relationship he'd always had with Jackie; shit talking and affection. They shared everything and verbal spars was a part of that.

Jill, with Abel in tow like a puppy on heel, appeared only when at least half of their class and most of the Hogwarts students appeared to have exited the room. Surprisingly, they still held Hermione and Ron's company.

"… think that if maybe we could get our hands on some then that might be good for a demonstration," Hermione was saying as they drew towards them. "If it's not too difficult, which I shouldn't imagine it would be."

Jill shook her head, smiling easily. "No, I can't imagine so. Mobile phones aren't that hard to come by, even in Potting Point." She turned towards Harry as she stopped before them. "Harry has one, for that matter."

Jackie grumbled something likely snide beneath her breath as Hermione and Ron turned towards him with open curiosity and fascination respectively. "Really?" Hermione asked.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah. Mum and Dad got it for me a year ago."

"That's so cool," Ron breathed.

Harry made a face. It wasn't that exceptional. Sure, kids didn't tend to have mobile phones, but that didn't mean it was unheard of. Even if Potting Point was a little backwards and slow to embrace change, surely Harry wasn't the only one to have one. "It's really not."

"No, it is," Ron said, nodding vehemently. "My dad would be so excited to hear that."

"Your dad?"

"Now, don't get the wrong impression," Jackie said, pausing in nibbling her apple core. "Harry's not a spoilt rich kid who gets every new gadget on the market."

"What?" Ron asked, shifting his attention towards her.

"Jackie." Harry said as he and Jill sighed in synchrony.

"He just has weirdly overprotective parents who have to be able to contact him at all times," Jackie continued, ignoring them both. "Some people think it's cute, others think it's weird. Personally, I'm of a mind that Harry's sense of direction is so bad that he needs it in case he gets lost on his afternoon run."

"Thank you for thinking so highly of me," Harry said, folding his arms.

"That's a little harsh, Jackie," Jill said with a meaningful tip of her head. Jackie's lips twisted with a hint of remorse – because one couldn't not feel remorseful after one of Jill's reprimands – but she didn't retract her words.

"I think that's a wonderful thing," Hermione said. "And isn't that the reason for them in the first place?"

"Thank you, Hermione," Harry said, more sincerely than he had before. He decided he liked Hermione a little more, despite barely knowing her. She seemed a little precocious at times, and maybe a little bossy, but she had her heart in the right place. It didn't matter what Jackie said about her; Jackie usually had a problem with anyone even vaguely authoritative.

"Suck up," Jackie predictably muttered.

"Would we be able to see it?" Hermione asked. "I've never actually used one myself."

Though awkwardness still clung to him as it always did when reminded of his parents' overprotectiveness, Harry nodded and dove into his backpack for his phone. It was a solid device, thick and durable, the block letters 'Nokia' printed just above the green-tinged screen.

"You can have a fiddle around with it if you'd like," he said, holding it out for Hermione's eager fingers. Ron immediately leant over her shoulder to peer at it with narrowed eyes. It was almost as though he'd never seen a phone before.

"How did your study go today?" Jill asked, turning from Hermione and Ron's wre 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing.

Harry, dragging his own attention from them – was it really so interesting? – blinked towards Jill. "Um… Yeah, no, it was alright." Then he paused. "Wait, scratch that, it was complete bollocks. No one but me did any work."

"Are your Hogwarts partners not helping?" Jill said, her smile growing sympathetic.

"Yeah," Harry said, turning a pointed stare upon Jackie. "The Hogwarts students."

"That's must be frustrating," Jill said.

"I know. I'm not even good at studying!"

"Oh, I disagree."

"Then you have too much faith in me."

"You're alright at it," Abel said quietly, speaking up for the first time. "You always help me."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Abel really was alright. A good bloke. It was a shame his shyness kept others from seeing it. "Thanks, mate."

"Are those the books you're using for it?" Jill said, pointing towards the stack at Jackie's feet. "The ones you got from the library?"

"Yeah." Jackie nudged the stack with a toe, nearly toppling it over. "Turns out books on magic can have some pretty cool stuff in them."

"What?"

Hermione and Ron's joint exclamation snapped loudly through the corridor, drowning out the conversation of the sparse students that still wandered past them. Ron, now in possession of Harry's phone, nearly let it slip through his fingers.

"Please don't drop it," Harry said, reaching out a warning hand.

"Oh, because it's not indestructible or anything?" Jackie said, grinning.

"Shut up. And I'm never letting you near it with a box of matches again."

"I didn't destroy it though, did I?"

"Not for lack of trying."

"Did you just say magic?" Hermione asked, her words a little choked.

Harry glanced back towards her. He frowned. Her face had paled, and Ron's had grown so wan himself that his freckles stood out in stark relief. It wasn't a good look for him, even if Harry had found him attractive in the first place. "What?"

"Magic," Ron breathed. "You know – you do magic?"

Glancing between them, Harry felt his own confusion radiating from Jackie at his side. Jill and Abel were similarly regarding the Hogwarts students with curious confusion. Confusion that remained, however, as Harry felt his own drift towards disgruntlement.

Surely they weren't the same. Surely. Was Hogwarts a religious school or something? Was that why not only Draco and Pansy but Hermione and Ron seemed to have a problem with it? He'd hoped that they wouldn't be so close-minded.

"Harry does," Jackie said. Harry could feel her chin rise in characteristic objection. "You got a problem with that?"

"You can…" Hermione's eyes widened. "No. No, you must mean…"

"Why is this such a problem with you lot?" Harry asked, folding his arms. "There's nothing wrong with doing it for a bit of fun."

"Fun?" Hermione asked.

"'You lot'?" Ron echoed. "What do you mean 'you lot'?"

"You're just the same as the aristocrat prats that we're working with," Jackie said, sniffing sharply. "And you say they're the gits? Take a look in the mirror, idiot."

It was jumping to conclusions a little, maybe, but Harry didn't care. Not even when Ron flinched as though he'd been physically struck and Hermione frowned in confusion that overrode whatever stupor had gripped her. He didn't retract his words, and didn't need to as, in the brief silence that followed, his phone began ringing.

Ron nearly dropped it. Again. "What the -?" he said but fell silent as Harry reached for it.

"Can I have that back, please?" he asked.

Ron wordlessly held it out to him, and Harry glanced at the incoming number on screen. Ignoring Ron and Hermione further, he turned towards Jackie, Jill, and Abel. "It's Sirius. He's probably out the front. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jackie said, still staring daggers at Ron and Hermione.

"Don't kill anyone, Jackie," Harry said. Despite his sudden disappointment in the Hogwarts prefects he'd previously thought were kind of lright, he didn't want any bloodshed.

"Don't worry, Harry, I'll keep an eye on her," Jill said quietly.

"Thanks, Jill. I trust you."

Hooking his backpack over his shoulder, Harry started down the emptying corridor towards the exit. The buzzing phone in his hand demanded his attention even as he stepped out the door. He pressed it to his ear with a click.

"Hey, Padfoot," he said.

"Hey, Bambi," Sirius replied. "Ready to go?"

"You're on time today?"

"Am I ever not?"

"Only almost always."

"Huh. Well, I promise I won't make a habit of punctuality, then."

Harry grinned. His poor humour was already dissolving as he walked through the stark concrete school grounds of idling students. He'd known Sirius his whole life and couldn't ask for a better godfather. That Sirius lived at his house almost as much as he did the one he shared with Harry's uncle Remus only added to that impression.

Sirius was the 'fun uncle', as Remus called him. The one who gave him his first coke when Lily said he shouldn't have fizzy drinks. The one who watched his first R-rated movie with him and gave him his first sip of alcohol. He was the one who always had a joke on his lips, a friendly arm around Harry's shoulder, and a ready smile. He was always took an interest in Harry's love life, had given him his first packet of condoms, and seemed nothing if not thrilled by the prospect of Harry one day getting a boyfriend.

Harry hadn't really understood that openness and ready acceptance in his younger years. It was only when he'd come out that he realised that Sirius and Remus might not be so different from himself after all. Maybe that was why his own parents were so accepting of him when the rest of the world seemed to have a problem with his sexuality.

If anything, it only made Harry love Sirius even more. He was more than just fun, even if he was a kid at heart.

"You're finished work for the day?" Harry asked.

"Nah, I'm not on today," Sirius replied.

"Why not? Slacker."

"It's called shift-work, Bambi."

"Still. Slacker."

Sirius laughed, the sound crackling slightly through the phone. "Sure, sure. You want to help me slack off even more?"

Trotting down the front steps, Harry left the school behind him. He was smiling as he glanced both directions along the road in search of Sirius' pretentious car. "Depends. What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking something with lots of chocolate and a potential food baby in the making."

"Mum will know if I don't eat dinner."

"Give it to PJ," Sirius chuckled. "What are dogs for if not to shower with affection and too much food?"

Harry's smile widened. "Sounds like a pretty good plan to me."

"Of course it is. It's my plan." Sirius' satisfaction radiated in his tone. He was nothing if not self-confident. "Are you finished for the afternoon? I'm parked just 'round the corner, in the side street."

"I'll be there in a second," Harry said before disconnecting and shoving his phone into his pocket. Hitching his bag higher onto his shoulder, he broke into a jog through the student car park clogged with those leaving the school parking lot. The crowd of kids waiting for a lift, for the bus, or simply being annoyingly solid barriers for Harry to weave around, thinned slightly as he neared the side street a block from the school.

Only for him to grind to a halt as a familiar figure stepped out before him. Harry rolled his eyes with a sigh. "Bloody hell, Draco, are you going to start making a habit of this?"

Why Draco-bloody-Malfoy hadn't returned to his school with the rest of his classmates, Harry didn't know. He hadn't known a week before either, though it apparently had something to do with his vendetta against magic and questioning Harry with unwarranted urgency.

He was more composed that afternoon. With the school still in sight and the echo of the bell still in Harry's ears, he must have been waiting after he'd exited the hall. Harry hadn't seen him leave, hadn't spared a moment of his attention for his partners when he'd realised that they were not only disinclined to read the library books but seemed resistant to helping with the assignment at all. Jackie was a special case so she didn't count, but Harry couldn't abide slackers in group work.

Not even stupidly good-looking ones, with perfectly coifed hair, and aquiline features, and a certain way of holding their chin that made them look somehow regal. Draco was still a prat.

Folding his arms across his chest, Harry cocked his head and regarded him. His face, not the rest of him, because if he let his gaze stray then he knew that his resolution towards his disregard would significantly decrease. Draco had a nice arse; what could Harry say?

"I wouldn't say that two instances equate to forming a habit," Draco said, the regal tilt of his chin rising slightly higher. He had a long neck. Harry hadn't realised he liked that until that moment. "But if you're referring to my staying behind while the rest of my classmates have left, then yes, I have done so.

 _Yes, I have done so,_ Harry echoed in his head with a mental roll of his eyes. Did he have to sound so bloody pompous? Shaking his head, Harry hooked a thumb under the strap of his bag. "What do you want, Draco?"

"To talk to you," Draco replied.

"We literally spent an entire afternoon barely three feet from each other and you want to talk now?"

"In privacy," Draco clarified. His eyes flickered over Harry's shoulder. "Away from listening ears."

Harry's glance behind himself caught sight of one of the handful of school buses drawing alongside the cluster of waiting students. It huffed and puffed as it stopped, sinking beneath its weight, before being rocked like a ship in a storm as its passengers crammed to climb aboard. They were a distinct distance away, enough that Harry doubted anyone could hear them. It was stupid that Draco had wanted 'privacy' for what Harry had a suspicion he wished to discuss, but that privacy was certainly available.

"Let me guess," Harry said, turning back towards him. "You wanted to whine at me about magic again."

Draco's eyelids fluttered it a series of blinks. "Whine?" he said, voice pitching.

Harry drew his eyes skyward. He hadn't even started mucking around with magic tricks again yet and it was already causing him problems. "Engrossing as it always is to talk to you, Draco, I've got better things to do than reveal to you how I do magic tricks. Especially to someone who's so prejudiced against it." Starting around Draco, he shot him a sidelong glance. "So, if you don't mind –"

"Wait," Draco said, raising a hand to block Harry's passing. He didn't quite touch him, but Harry jolted to a stop nonetheless. "You've clearly got the wrong idea."

"Have I?" Harry asked flatly.

Draco either ignored or didn't hear the sarcasm in his voice. He nodded. "Certainly. I'm not prejudiced against magic, but simply… curious as to how one such as yourself has come into possession of such capability." Draco's eyebrow twitched. "You're not a wizard. Surely."

There was so much about that statement that Harry objected to. For a moment, he could only stare up at Draco, his mouth hanging open. Then he held up a hand. "Hold on one fucking second."

Draco reared back a little, his raised arm retracting. "Excuse me?"

"One," Harry said, raising a finger and ignoring his interruption, "you clearly _are_ a prejudiced arsehole. What do you call all that 'Muggle' crap you were going on about last week."

"You are a Muggle," Draco said, his jaw visibly tightening.

"Two," Harry said, ignoring him again, "curious? Curious my arse. You and Pansy just about shit yourselves when we mentioned it last week."

"We didn't –"

"Don't deny it. I don't know what problem you have with magic tricks –"

"We don't –"

"- but you need to get over yourselves, because this is the topic for our assignment and we're sticking with it. I've already taken notes, and I'm not starting all over again just because you say so." Harry had never been more adamant about his initially reluctant decision than he was now. He was sure he'd cling to it if he had to complete the assignment himself – which was looking increasingly likely. "Get over your superstitious nonsense and pull that fucking stick out of your arse, because whatever problem you have isn't mine. So shut the hell up."

Draco's eyebrows had climbed so high up his forehead that they almost seemed to disappear into his hairline. For a moment, anyway, before his eyes narrowed into a scowl. It would have amused Harry if he weren't so annoyed.

"And thirdly," Harry continued, raising a third finger and jabbing it in Draco direction, "I'm not a wizard. Not anymore. Besides, the correct term is magician, thank you very much."

Draco flinched backwards at Harry's jab, his lip curling, but he seemed to mull over Harry's words for a moment before replying. When he did, he raised his own finger.

"One," he said primly, "you _are_ a Muggle, and it has nothing to do with your social status, regardless of what you and your friend seem to think. Anyone who is not… not from Hogwarts is a Muggle."

Harry blinked, then frowned. "Bloody elitists," he grumbled.

"Secondly," Draco continued, ignoring Harry just as he'd been ignored in turn, "I _am_ curious of your magic. Especially curious, in fact, and not prejudiced, as you similarly seem to misguidedly believe. If anything, your disappearing handkerchief last week has only made me all the more so."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but words didn't come. Draco was… curious? Actually curious? That was surely a lie. He and Pansy had been regarding him with particular wariness that day. He hadn't missed the glances amidst their silent and sometimes murmured conversation, even if he had been pretending – and mostly succeeding – to ignore them.

But Draco was curious? That was different. Most people were either rendered speechless and awed or sceptical and ridiculing. Or superstitious. Harry had been sure Draco fell in the latter category.

"As it happens," Draco continued further, "I have something of an interest in this project you have proposed, and shall endeavour to participate in pursuing it."

"Really?" Harry said, his incredulity not wholly feigned. "Because you didn't really seem all that enthusiastic today."

"My apologies," Draco said, tipping his head in a polite little nod that had Harry speechless once more. "I'll do better next week, provided you'll allow it of me."

"But… why?"

"Why what?" Draco asked, his eyebrow rising with another twitch. "Why do I want to achieve a pass in an assignment that I find interesting, do you mean?"

Harry made to reply but again found himself without words. His annoyance dying, he drew back slightly. Now he was simply confused. "Right," he said slowly.

"And thirdly," Draco said, raising another finger, "whether a magician or a wizard, you can do magic. The title matters little. Will you show me some of your magic?"

Harry blinked. He opened his mouth again, took a breath, and paused. "What?"

"Will you show me?"

For a moment, Harry could only stare at him. Stare and wonder. Draco Malfoy was good-looking. He had almost unnaturally blond hair and features so sharp they looked almost carved from stone. Even when his eyes were hooded and clearly condescending, Harry could just make out their dark greyness; it was kind of pretty.

He was tall and had a pair of noteworthy shoulders on him. He carried himself in a way that turned heads and drew eyes, only to deter most of those with a sharply raised eyebrow and a curl of his lip that immediately spoke of the prat that he was.

 _Or maybe not so much of a prat,_ a tentative voice murmured in the back of Harry's head. He didn't try to quash it. Not just yet, and especially not when it continued with, _what kind of person that has an appreciation for magic tricks done well can possibly be a prat?_

It was biased of him, Harry acknowledged. That Draco showed even a mild interest and perhaps the barest hint of respect didn't really mean anything. But few enough people outside of Harry's family had ever appreciated his magic tricks that it was enough to pique Harry's own interest. Sure, it didn't hurt that he _maybe_ thought Draco was a bit of a looker, but that wasn't the important part.

"You know," he said slowly, tipping his head once more, "a magician never reveals their tricks."

Draco frowned briefly before his forehead smoothed. "You think you can mask your magic?"

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "I used to practice a lot, you know. I'm pretty sure I've got it covered."

"A lot? How much is a lot?'

He really was interested. Harry's hold tightened on his bag as he coaxed himself to loosen his hold on that rather surprising discovery. "Since I was a kid," he said, deliberately failing to admit that he'd ceased any kind of practise years ago.

"Was it accidental magic?" Draco asked.

"Accident –?" Harry cut himself off. "Well, I suppose. It could be construed as an accident that I started doing it, but the practising was pretty deliberate on my part."

Draco leant towards him slightly, his eyes narrowing in something that wasn't a glare. "You did magic intentionally as a child?"

Harry shifted slightly, awkwardly. He wasn't used to people being curious of him, and though he might appreciate it, he didn't quite know what to make of it. Besides, any attractive bloke who looked at him sideways was bound to make him nervous. He could hardly be blamed for that.

"It's not like it's hard," Harry said. "You just… learn. And practise."

"That's quite impressive," Draco said, frowning. That frown wasn't quite a glare as its predecessors had been. "Very, I might even say."

An unexpected warmth rose in Harry's cheeks and he swallowed. Hoping that it didn't show in a telling blush and blessing that he wasn't nearly as pale as Draco, he cleared his throat and attempted to speak. To brush aside the compliment, and maybe even go so far as to explain how he'd managed the child's play trick he'd shown to Draco the previous week. He didn't usually tell people, but the sudden urge unexpectedly gripped him.

Only for a car's blaring horn to snap him from his daze. Startled, he glanced down the road towards its source. In the distance, Sirius' Astin Martin could just be seen poking its nose out of an adjacent street. A moment later, Sirius himself appeared, hanging out the window with his long hair loose and his oversized Aviators consuming half of his face. His toothy grin took up the other half, so wide that Harry could see even across the distance between them.

"Get moving, Bambi! I hear the chocolate fountains calling my name!"

Harry smothered a snort. It didn't entirely erase his momentary flush of embarrassment, but it helped to instil a little sensibility in him. Shaking his head, he glanced briefly towards Draco. "I've got to take off. See you next week."

"Yes," Draco murmured, staring towards Sirius and his car with a frown crinkling his forehead. "I'll see you next week, Evans."

"Call me Harry, Draco," Harry said, slipping past him. "Enough people who look down on me call me by my surname."

Without waiting for a reply or even pausing to discern if Draco had one for him, Harry took off at a run. He scooted around Sirius' car and slid into the passenger seat within seconds. The scent of pristine leather upholstery and Sirius' cologne flooded over him.

"Hey, kiddo," Sirius said, butting his shoulder with a fist. "What's kept you?"

Dressed down in jeans and T-shirt, with his rugged good looks Harry knew he would draw the eye of many a girl and more than a few guys. If Harry didn't see him as practically his blood relative, he might have even felt the same.

Maybe. Okay, maybe that was kind of weird, but it was true nonetheless.

Strapping himself in, Harry shrugged. "A classmate wanted to chat."

"That blond kid?" Sirius said, tilting his head up the road towards the school. "The tall one?"

Harry's gaze darted past Sirius for a moment to catch Draco still standing where he'd left him. "Yeah, that one," Harry said, shifting in his seat.

Naturally, Sirius immediately grinned. "He's a hottie?"

"Sirius."

"Bit of a looker? I know you've got a thing for blonds –"

Harry punched Sirius' shoulder in return. "I do not!"

"You do," Sirius laughed, leaning away from his second punch. "You can't tell me that after how much you stare at Dicaprio."

Harry groaned, thumping his head back against the headrest and covering his face with his hands. It might be less embarrassing to talk about such things with Sirius that – God forbid – his parents, but not by much. "Please shut up."

"Don't pretend you actually enjoyed that Romeo and Juliet movie. Even your Dad realised you only wanted to go and see it 'cause Dicaprio was –"

"Can you seriously shut up, please?" Harry said, flailing a hand towards him. "Weren't you just whinging about the siren call of the chocolate?"

"Oh, a siren's call, is it?" Sirius smirked, poking his tongue out. "I like it."

"Please. Stop."

Laughing, Sirius slapped his hands to the top of the steering wheel. "Alright, keep your secrets," he said, throwing the car into gear. They lurched forwards with all the power of the six-cylinder engine, rumbling into speed in an instant. "Just be sure to let me be the first person to know if you shag him, yeah?"

"Go to hell."

Sirius only laughed harder, and Harry found that he didn't really mind. Or he wouldn't have, if it hadn't provoked the thought. Shagging Draco Malfoy? He was only human, after all.

Besides, Draco was curious. That meant something, didn't it?

* * *

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Mrs. Joyce said, her gentle voice somehow managing to pervade the chatter of their congregation. "Today we'll be collecting the finalised topics for your presentations. You should have reached an agreement after three weeks, so if you find you're having any difficulties, please approach either myself or Professor McGonagall and we'll…"

"I'll never understand why they call them 'professor' at Hogwarts," Jackie said when Mrs. Joyce had finished. Hitching the stack of library books in her hands, they made for the lines of discarded chairs. "Is professor somehow superior to teacher or something?"

"I don't think it's that," Jill said. "It's probably just because Hogwarts is a very old school."

"Is it?" Jackie turned towards Jill. "How do you know that?"

"Hermione was telling me about it," Jill said with a shrug. "It was founded some time in the late tenth century."

"The tenth century?" Jackie said, voice rising. She sounded almost impressed. Or horrified, perhaps; Harry often found it difficult to tell the difference. "How is something even that old?"

"They live in a castle," Abel said quietly from Jill's shoulder, talking more to his toes than to Jackie. "It's in the mountains with only a small town nearby. They have a slightly different curriculum, or so it seems from what Ron and Hermione have told us." He hitched his shoulders in his version of a shrug. "Something like that. Ron mentioned they play a sport called quidditch, too, though he didn't really explain what it's about too well."

Harry paused in step, turning towards Abel. It might have been the longest string of sentences he'd ever heard Abel make in their entire comrade-ship, which was saying something given he'd worked with him on a presentation in ninth grade.

Jackie looked similarly impressed – or horrified – and Jill was smiling at Abel sidelong as though to congratulate him. She somehow managed to make it not condescending.

"It's pretty interesting, actually," she continued after a moment. "We should join our groups for an afternoon or something."

"Sure, that'd be cool," Harry said, jumping in before Jackie could voice her dissent. She seemed to have taken as much of a dislike to Hermione and Ron as she had their own partners, though seemed to find them somewhat less aesthetically attractive and thus deficient.

Noddinto the right, Harry gestured towards Hermione and Ron across the room. "They're over there, by the way."

Jill left with a wave, Abel on her heels, and with a nudge, Jackie urged Harry into motion. Dragging a pair of chairs after him, they tucked their seats in the corner.

"Which one do you want?" Jackie asked, dropping her pile of books before picking a pair at random and holding them up. Their covers were faded, the titles ornate in Old English calligraphy. "They both look enthralling."

"Shut up," Harry said, snatching one. "I'm going to go and give our topic to Mrs. Joyce first. Are you coming?"

Jackie blew her lips, scrunching her nose. "Are you kidding? I'm hardly the leader in this group."

"Some partner you are."

"I'll accompany you."

Turning in his seat, Harry watched Draco and then Pansy appear through the crowd. Each held a chair before them, and somehow Draco managed to make even that appear elegant. "I said I'd work with you from now on, didn't I?"

Shoving aside the slight tightening in his gut, Harry managed a casual shrug. "Sure. Do whatever you want."

Jackie switched her gaze sharply between them. Harry could feel her eyes narrow, even as he ignored her and rose to his feet. "What's this?" she asked. "When did you decide this?"

"Jealous, Jackie?" Harry teased, grinning at her rather than succumb to the urge to look at Draco. "Does this mean you're going to actually help me out?"

In an instant, Jackie was back to blowing her lips and slouching in her chair. "Are you kidding? I've got some quality reading to do." She raised the book in her hands to present the cover to him.

 _Discipline and Punishment: The Birth of the Prison._ Typical.

Harry rolled his eyes. "What the bloody hell does that have to do with the history of magic?" he asked.

"Everything," Jackie said, smiling contentedly. "Witches and magicians and all that were imprisoned, right?"

"I think you mean burned and hanged," Harry said.

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

"Discipline and Punishment?" Pansy said, skirting around Jackie with a slight frown on her face. "Does that… interest you?"

Jackie flickered only her eyes towards her. "Do you mean the early developmental milestones of the primitive judicial system or the torturous afflictions of the declared criminals? Because the answer is both." She nestled a little further into her seat. "It's not quite up there with my library on medieval torture, but it's cool enough."

Harry opened his mouth to lie and assure Pansy that Jackie didn't _really_ have a library on medieval torture, even if he'd been exposed to more gruesome pictures than he felt comfortable with admitting. But his words died in his mouth as he saw Pansy's eyebrows rise. She planted her chair beside Jackie's – or not quite beside, but closer than it usually was.

"Personally, I believe that the modern judicial system is inherently flawed," she said with a sniff, dropping primly into her seat. "It's practically medieval."

Harry didn't linger to watch Jackie turn slowly towards Pansy, though he knew she did. He didn't wait to see her lower her book, though she likely did as well, nor strike up a conversation with her which was as likely to be as riddled with exchanged insults as facts. Passing Draco, he started instead towards where Mrs. Joyce stood surrounded by a drabble of his classmates waiting to submit their choices.

It was only when he paused on the outskirts of the crowd that he realised Draco had accompanied him. Glancing sidelong, he shuffled for a moment, foot to foot. "You really didn't have to come."

"No," Draco said. "I didn't."

"Then why…?"

"Because I said I would." Draco turned towards him, and Harry wasn't quite quick enough to snap his gaze away. "I don't know what you've heard of our school, but I did see you speaking to Weasley and Granger last week. I know that, by and large, most of the stories they'd tell you of Slytherins are unfavourable, but I'll at least stand by my word. Besides, I said I meant what I said. I'm curious about you."

Harry didn't know what a Slytherin was but he didn't care. He barely considered his ignorance at all, however; it was difficult to draw his thoughts from that single word and the struggle it took to withhold a smile.

Draco was curious. About him. Even if it was more because of the magic than Harry himself, it was something. Something kind of wonderful.

Even if he was still a giant prat. A wonderful, giant prat.


	6. Chapter 6

Striding into the dining room, Harry leant over his father's shoulder and swiped a hot chip from his plate.

"Oi," James said, swatting at him. "Don't eat the crunchy ones. They're the best ones!"

"What, because you haven't horded enough of them yourself, James?" Lily asked from the other side of the table, pointing at him with her own chip.

"That's because no one else likes them."

"We do, actually. We just let you take them all because otherwise you sulk."

"I don't sulk," James said, the pout of his bottom lip echoed in his voice.

"You kind of sulk," Remus said from his side, nibbling through his own chip-sandwich.

"Yeah, you kind of do," Sirius called from the living room.

Harry smirked as his parents and uncles descended into a familiar verbal tussle that consisted primarily of discrediting one another. They were like a bunch of teenagers when they got together, and much of the time Harry joined them in their antics. The several nights a week they all shared dinner were always a riot.

Not that day, however. For their usual Sunday lunch, Harry would be leaving them to their own devices. Pausing at the fridge, Harry stole a coke from within and shoved it in his bag. A packet of crisps from the pantry followed.

"Where are you off to this afternoon, Harry?" Remus asked through the ensuing rowdiness.

Zipping his backpack, Harry slung it over his shoulder as he glanced towards him. "I'm going to the library to study," he said.

Remus' stared at him for a beat as though he expected him to call bullshit. When Harry didn't, a slow smile spread across his lips. "This is new for you. What brought it on?"

Harry shrugged, shuffling between his feet and fiddling with the strap of his bag. He wouldn't tell Remus that he was getting his act together for C&C because of his partnerwork. He wouldn't call Draco by name, because Sirius had ears like a bloodhound and would hear a name-drop from a mile away. He couldn't even tell James and Lily that he was going to meet 'a friend' because they would instantly know that it wasn't Jackie, or Jill, or even Abel. They somehow always knew the few times that Harry had tried to date anyone.

Not that this was a date. Not at all. It was simply that Draco had suggested they meet on a weekend to pool their researching efforts rather than study independently. He'd even offered to come to Potting Point from wherever the hell Hogwarts was, which rekindled that pleasantly discomforting lurch in Harry's belly.

 _It doesn't mean anything,_ he'd had to remind himself each day since the moment Draco had suggested their meeting. _It's for school. It's not actually anything special. Nothing suggestive._

Except that it felt like it was. It felt like something. Harry didn't quite know what that something was, but he'd been feeling it since a handful of weeks before when Draco seemed to finally grasp the nature of their topic of choice.

"So it's not real magic?" he asked, rearing back slightly in his wobbly school chair with his voice pitching lowly.

Harry stared at him. Real magic? What was he going on about? Harry slowly shook his head. "No. Though focusing on the history of magic for our presentation might be our topic, I figured it might be cool to add a bit of the practical stuff, you know? For a bit of, um… flair." With a flourish of his hand and a twist of his wrist, Harry flipped a fake rose into his hand. "Like this."

It wasn't anything exceptional. Once upon a time, Harry had held a handful of spontaneous magic tricks quite literally up his sleeve. Despite decidedly moving past that phase of his life, he hadn't thrown out his box of props, and it hadn't taken much to unearth it from the depths of his cupboard. The thought of sparking Draco's interest further might have had something to do with it, but it was only a part of the whole reason.

Besides, little sleight of hand movements, conjured simplicities, and flashy flourishes weren't anything special – and yet Draco jerked in his seat and swung his gaze towards the rose with wide eyes.

"That's…" He drew a sharp breath, snapping his eyes to meet Harry's. "That's magic. You just did magic."

Until that moment, Harry hadn't quite understood just what Draco considered magic. A week after they'd given their chosen topic to Mrs. Joyce, it began to dawn on him.

Magic. Real magic, as Draco called it. The kind that was in books, and people that followed Wiccan lore adhered to – or at least that was what Harry assumed he referred to. Not sleight of hand at all, but something supernatural. When Harry considered it like that, he found himself a little disappointed, and not only because Draco would be too.

Tucking a foot onto the edge of his seat, Harry slouched back into his chair with a nonchalance he didn't feel. He fiddled with the rose as he pursed his lips. "No, this isn't 'real magic'. It's just a trick. I had it up my sleeve."

"So you conjured it from your sleeve?" Draco asked, his voice hushing further. "Without a wand?"

Harry glanced towards Draco. He was staring intently at the rose in Harry's hands. Harry frowned. Conjured? A wand? He really was going all out.

"No," Harry said slowly, "just like this." With another flick of his wrist, he vanished the rose back to where it had come from.

Draco flinched again. Then he leant towards Harry and stared intently at his hands, as though searching for sparkles or the glittering remnants of magic. Harry had the unexpected urge to hide them; he felt fraudulent, like he'd deceived Draco into thinking it was real. Harry didn't think that any self-respecting seventeen-year-old should really believe in magic, but it still felt cruel to take it away from him.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," Harry said, tucking his hands beneath his legs in a far less nonchalant motion. "I don't really know what you were expecting, but it's all just a trick –"

"No," Draco said flatly, shaking his head. "There must be some kind of magic involved."

"I can literally show you how I do it if you'd –"

"There must be something. There _must_ be."

Harry fell silent. There was no ambivalence in Draco's tone. He sounded as certain of himself as Harry was suddenly certain he was quite completely deluded. Shifting in his seat, Harry made a scene of flicking turning to the books alongside his chair. He was torn between the urge to laugh hysterically and retreat in a scramble, because this? This was a little weird, and of a sort that Harry wasn't sure what to do with.

But then… Well, he was a little weird, too. How could he judge Draco for his beliefs and way of life if he expected to be accepted himself?

The thought drew more forth, and some that had nothing at all to do with C&C. As he opened another library book, Harry found himself wondering what Draco would say when he found out that Harry was gay. He'd surely picked up on Jackie's sexuality given that she was about as far from hiding it as possible, but Harry's? Regardless of his noncommittal response to Jackie's openness, it was different when it was a guy. Different for a guy he fancied.

And fancied quite a bit, Harry acknowledged. He didn't think the worst thing Draco could call him when he found out was 'Muggle'. Liking Draco would make the inevitable hurt even more.

The thought was disheartening, but Harry's discouragement faded as Draco's intrigue persisted. The true nature of their chosen topic might have been revealed but it didn't appear to have dampened his commitment to helping Harry with their research. That much at least was a blessing, given that not only was Jackie reading books decidedly unrelated to magic, but she appeared to have reached some kind of common ground with Pansy. The frequency that he overheard words 'torture' and 'blood' from their conversations was somewhat disturbing.

From then on, it had become Harry with Draco and Jackie with Pansy. Much of the time Harry thought that Jackie was more engaged in arguing with Pansy than actually talking, and she still left their afternoon C&C classes clicking her tongue and bemoaning what a bitch Pansy was, but every week following would find her in Pansy's company once more.

Harry was fine with that. More than fine, because it meant that Draco was all but forced to work with him. Even better was that Draco was a good worker.

It became quickly apparent that Draco was smart. Very smart, even, and though Jackie had been the one to declare that she didn't want to get a poor grade from their lack of participation, Draco was the one who showed his distaste for the eventuality.

He was still a prat, Harry thought, for he often seemed to look down his nose at most of his classmates. "Gryffindors are all crass and ridiculously exuberant with barely an ounce of wit between them," he'd said of what Harry had come to know as the red and gold dormitory house. Or, "History of Magic is naturally an unutterably dull subject, but this Muggle literature is surprisingly enlightening," to which Jackie actually unearthed from her conversation with Pansy for long enough to give him a tongue-lashing.

Or, perhaps the worst of the lot, "Were you talking to Weasley earlier? Why on earth would you interact with such a distasteful person? The lower rungs of society, as it were."

Harry had almost punched him. Almost, and only hadn't because it would ruin Draco's perfect nose and, in spite of being an arse, he was nice to look at. His hands had balled into fists regardless, however, and he felt a different kind of heat well within him.

"Shut the fuck up," he said shortly.

Draco, in the process of placing his chair down alongside Harry's, paused. "Excuse me?"

Harry jabbed a finger at him. "Ron has been really great to my friends, Jill and Abel. Hermione too. And both of _them_ are actually helping them with their project. Jill hasn't had a bad word to say about either of them, so if you do, then you can just fuck off. I'll do this project by myself."

Staring at him, eyes narrowing, Draco's fingers curled around the back of his chair. Harry heard it squeak beneath the pressure. "You're defending Weasley?" he said, low and chilled. "Someone you barely know?"

"Call me a spokesperson," Harry said, fists tightening further. "Trust me, I get enough of that kind of bullshit at this school without you lot adding to it. I can deal with it, and I swear, I won't hold back just because a punch would throw your perfect bloody nose out."

It felt less of a lie than Harry knew it was. Draco clearly didn't hear the fallacy, for he took a half step backwards, tugging his chair with him. Ignoring him, Harry hunched into his seat, shot a glare to where Jackie had paused in her conversation to give him a thumbs up before dragging Pansy's curious attention back towards her, and returned to his book.

It took ten minutes. Ten minutes of ignoring him before Draco cleared his throat and spoke. "If I offended you, I'm sorry. Weasley family and my own have… a history."

Harry didn't glance up from his book, but he paused in his reading. "That's no reason to treat him like shit."

"Even if he does the same to me?"

Harry lifted only his eyes. Draco was watching him intently, his own book resting open in his lap. "Does he?"

Draco didn't reply, but he didn't need to. Harry saw it in the tightness of his shoulders and chided himself a little for presuming Ron wasn't retaliating. He'd said that 'Slytherins' were all gits. Harry had believed him to an extent, but… maybe he shouldn't have. Was it any worse than what Draco had said?

Their animosity faded a little after that, and by the end of the class Harry and Draco were working as easily as they'd grown capable of. It almost wasn't a surprise when Draco caught his arm before he could follow Jackie from the hall.

"Perhaps we could meet up to study on the weekend?" he asked.

Harry stared at Draco's hand on his elbow. Then he raised his gaze to meet Draco's querying stare. His mouth felt suddenly dry, but swallowing didn't seem to help relieve it.

"Sure," he finally managed, his voice croaking a little and nearly lost beneath the voices of their surrounding classmates. "Did you want to meet somewhere between here and Hogwarts, or…?"

"Does Potting Point have a library?" Draco asked.

And that was that. Three days before, Draco had asked if Harry wanted to study at the local library, and Harry had agreed that it was a good idea. A very good idea, though for studying purposes only, of course. Harry had almost been unable to keep it a secret from Jackie, which he'd dedicated himself to because she would surely accompany him if she found out.

"You're smiling," Remus said, dragging Harry's attention back to the dining room and the conversation James was having with Sirius through the living room wall. Something about chips still. "Is study all of a sudden enjoyable?"

Harry smothered the smile he hadn't even felt rise and pretended he didn't see the glance that Remus shared with Lily. Her own smile spread so far that the scar upon her cheek drew starkly white.

"Okay, Professor Lupin," Harry said, sighing long-sufferingly, "I know that you've got a thing for education and everything, but can you keep it at work please?"

"Professor?" Remus said, raising an eyebrow. "I think afternoon tutoring hardly qualifies me for such a title. Or being a librarian, for that matter."

Harry flapped a hand at him. "Don't pretend you don't practically get off from seeing a textbook, Remy."

"Harry," Lily said, though her smile shifted into a smirk.

"Sorry."

"You're not," Sirius called from the living room. "I can hear the lie, Harry."

"Don't give me away, Sirius," Harry called back. "Go back to playing with your nephew."

"Padfoot Junior is my son, not my nephew." Sirius appeared in the doorway with PJ dutifully at his side. "Since you named him for me –"

"Which I very much regret," Harry said.

"- I have the right of his paternity." He grinned wolfishly, dropping a hand to PJ's head, who turned adoring eyes towards him. "Best decision you ever made, Bambi."

Harry rolled his eyes. He cursed his childhood self at times for naming PJ after Padfoot. His parents told him that PJ had apparently 'reminded him of Sirius'. James thought it was hilarious, though Lily always cuffed him up the back of his head when he broke into laughter. Harry didn't know why it was so funny; an inside joke, he supposed. James, Lily, Sirius, and Remus seemed to have a lot of those.

Planting a kiss on Lily's cheek, Harry started for the door. "Will you be home for dinner?" she called after him.

"Um…" Harry paused, his hand on the doorknob, and glanced over his shoulder. He found four pairs of eyes – five including PJ's – turned towards him and just as many smiles. Surely they couldn't have guessed that he was meeting someone. Surely. "Yes? I think so? I guess it depends on how distracted I get."

"Distraction," Sirius said, tilting his head in such eerie similarity to PJ's own head-tip that it was a little creepy.

Remus smiled gently, propping his elbow on the table and his chin into his hand. He was at another low point, had been unwell for the past few days as his poor immune system routinely found him, but his wanness seemed to retreat for just a moment. "Have fun," he said.

"Unlikely," Harry replied as casually as he could manage and, with an offhanded shrug, ducked through the door. He was running before he reached the curb.

* * *

There was nothing remarkable about Potting Point Library. To Harry, the most exceptional part about it was that Remus worked there. It was one of the largest single-standing buildings in the western half of the city, but that didn't make it grand. Low-roofed with plain brick walls, a shaded promenade surrounding it that was too narrow to properly appreciate, it was almost underwhelmingly simple.

Or it usually was. Harry had hardly spared it a momentary glance, for as he'd started up the short steps to the front door, it had been to find Draco waiting for him.

He'd forgotten that they wouldn't be in their uniforms. How had he forgotten? How could he not have predicted that if Draco was good looking in uniform, he would be all the more so in casual slacks, boots, and a fitted jacket?

It wasn't terribly cold, though the encroaching winter was bringing with it a wealth of gusting winds and icy drizzle. Inside the stagnant library, however, amidst old, groaning shelves and uncomfortable chairs, it wasn't quite so bad. Harry was eternally grateful for that fact; he hadn't had the privilege of seeing Draco in a V-necked T-shirt before and found it a sight he hadn't known he needed.

 _Does he play sport or something?_ Harry found himself wondering for the umpteenth time. _I wonder if he likes football?_ Draco wasn't exceptionally broad across the chest, but was certainly enough to notice. The breadth of his shoulders was appealing enough that Harry all but felt his fingers itch to touch them. Surely he played sport. His arse was too noteworthy for it to be otherwise.

Not that Harry could be distracted for long, however. In the corner the furthest to the back of the library, he thought he'd discovered the main reason Draco had asked him to study on the weekend. Sadly, it wasn't for a date, though Harry thought this might have been the next best thing.

"That's incredible," Draco breathed, staring at the card raised in Harry's hand. "How did you do that?"

"So I guess this is your card?" Harry asked, grinning as he rocked on the back legs of his chair.

Draco nodded slowly. "How did you know?"

Harry shrugged. He'd tried explaining the tricks preceding the card show to Draco, but despite showing him how and even attempting to teach to disappear a penny, Draco wouldn't believe it wasn't at least a little magical.

"It's really just sleight of hand," Harry said, holding the penny in his palm.

Draco only shook his head with that same decisiveness he'd demonstrated for weeks. "It might be a trick, but you must have an element of magic in there as well. This I'm certain of."

"I really don't."

"I can't do that with the coin," Draco said, nodding to Harry's hand.

"It's just because I've practiced," Harry replied.

"And because of magic."

"Not real magic."

"Perhaps a hint of –"

Draco cut himself off as a librarian chose that moment to slip around the nearest shelf and file an armful of books away. Draco watched the woman until she finished, disappearing around the corner, before turning back to Harry. "Show me another?"

So Harry did. He showed, he explained, and then he stopped explaining and simply showed. Draco was fascinated like few people Harry had encountered. It could have been because he was a fresh audience and he could very well grow tired of the theatrics soon enough, but Harry didn't care. He revelled in the hint of awe spreading across his face that Draco couldn't quite seem to withhold. There was something immensely satisfying about being the centre of a good-looking guy's attention.

Even if Draco did insist magic was somehow involved, it was worth it. And even if it was under the guise of studying, it felt sort of like a date, which Harry didn't mind so much either. Draco was less of a prat when he was engrossed in magic. He hadn't looked down his nose even once since they'd met that day.

"Magic, I guess," Harry said in reply to Draco's query as he handed Draco's card back to him. It wasn't, of course. Harry knew because he'd filed the deck specifically for that trick and had practiced it thousands of times as a kid. Still, he waggled his fingers and grinned at Draco, to which Draco almost, almost smiled a little himself.

 _Totally worth it,_ Harry thought. He'd never seen Draco properly smile. That day was the closest he'd come. He thought Draco would have a nice smile, despite his sharp features and apparent reluctance to express positivity. Maybe Harry could draw it out of him.

He was chiding himself for the thought even as Draco sighed, straightened and shook out his shoulders. That simple movement was enough to distract Harry from his thought, because _the shoulders_. Harry had never been partial to big and burly blokes, but he had to admit that a little breadth was nice.

"How many spells and enchantments do you know?" Draco asked.

Harry started, dragging his attention back from his staring. "What?"

"Your spells."

"Spells?" Harry shook his head. "They're just tricks."

Draco frowned, lips thinning as he pressed them together. Harry was growing to recognise that expression as the "you clearly don't know what you're talking about, so don't undermine my belief system" look. Harry almost sighed at Draco's retreat into Stuffy Git. Jackie's parents were religious, but they certainly had nothing on the demanding enforcement of their beliefs as Draco appeared to. What were the odds that Draco would be so taken with magic? And clearly the supposedly 'real' magic, too, rather than the tricks and sleight of hand the Harry practiced.

Before Draco could bluster in his expected spiel, Harry continued. "Don't spells and enchantments usually involve chanting verses or using magic words? Weird hand gestures or waving a magic wand or something?" He wiggled his fingers in the air once more in demonstration.

Draco drew back into his seat slightly, but it seemed different this time. Not a dragon rearing and huffing smoke but a snake coiling in upon itself in grumbling discontent. He regarded Harry for a moment before clicking his tongue. "Yes, I suppose so," he said. "Though, naturally, magic exists in which the use of wands and enchantments aren't necessary, to say nothing of potions."

Harry shook his head again. What had he gotten himself into exactly? Draco seemed to truly believe his own words. He was the real thing. What was it called again? Wiccan? Pagan? Some kind of old religion or supernatural belief? It sounded like he'd stepped straight out Macbeth.

"Right," Harry said. He propped a hand onto the table before him, his chin onto his knuckles, and regarded Draco with a slight frown. "You're really into this kind of stuff, huh?"

Draco opened his mouth, his dragon-rear resurfacing, but he caught himself before it got too out of hand. Pursing his lips, he nodded. "It is an interest of many people in my school."

"Is Hogwarts into that kind of thing, then?"

"That kind of thing?"

"The old religion and Wiccan-ey stuff." At Draco's frown, Harry waved the thought aside. "Never mind."

Draco regarded Harry for a moment, the silence stretching for long enough that Harry shifted beneath his attention. He'd never had a hot guy stare at him so fixedly before. A moment after it because uncomfortable, Draco spoke. "You truly don't believe that what you do is magic?"

 _I don't just disbelieve, I know,_ Harry thought, but chose to keep it to himself. Draco was invested, and Harry wasn't so firm in his own beliefs that he would discredit Draco's when they were just starting to get along. "Maybe it is a little bit," Harry allowed. "But it's certainly not intentional. Maybe somewhere along the way with all my practicing I picked up some real magic?"

Whatever he'd said seemed to satisfy Draco, for he smiled. A slow, small smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. The urge to smirk abandoned Harry, and he could only stare at the curve of Draco's thin lips, at the tiniest softening of his eyes.

 _Holy fuck, I'm so gone_.

"So long as you can accept the possibility, then I am content," Draco said. Then he straightened, folding his hands upon the table. "This has been most enlightening."

"Has it?" Harry asked.

Draco either ignored or didn't hear the sarcasm in his voice. He nodded again. "Certainly. At least for the moment I'll ruminate on this experience to deduce how I feel about the situation."

Harry bit back a snort. Ruminate? Deduce how he feels? What, about Harry's magic tricks? Was he wondering just how much of an insult to his Old Religion it was and whether he could tolerate it?

Harry didn't know, but he didn't ask. Or he didn't get the chance to, because Draco was speaking again, and his words were the best distraction that Harry had ever heard. "Would you like to get something to eat for lunch? It's midday already."

Harry was on his feet in an instant. He knew he was smiling like a fool, and Draco's raised eyebrow said he didn't miss it. But Harry didn't care. He nodded enthusiastically. "That sounds like a great idea."

Draco might not know it was a date, but Harry didn't care. He was spending the day and grabbing a bite to eat with a bloke he decided he definitely fancied, even if he was still a bit of a prat. That was enough for Harry.

* * *

As it turned out, Draco Malfoy had never been to McDonalds before.

"How is that even possible?" Harry asked, frozen in step outside the fluorescent store that reeked of grease and salt.

Draco eyed at the bright yellow sign above the doorway. "There aren't any local to the town near Hogwarts."

"But surely when you're at home for your holidays –"

"And my family doesn't eat fast food."

Harry stared at him. He stared at the tall, dashing creature with his perfectly coifed hair and immaculate posture who was so different to Harry himself that he was growing to suspect that Draco wasn't human at all. Then he shook his head, grabbed Draco by his elbow, and dragged him through the door.

"Then this will be an experience for you," Harry said, making for the counter. "I see it as my duty to relieve you of your Maccas virginity."

"My Maccas virginity?" Draco asked, amusement thickening his tone.

Harry swallowed. He didn't look towards Draco. He couldn't, because warmth was flooding in his cheeks. What the bloody hell had made him say that? Why was he turning into a bumbling idiot that blurted out stupid things all of a sudden? Hoping his embarrassment wasn't too apparent, he dropped Draco's arm and approached the counter.

Five minutes later and they were seated at one of the sticky tables in the threadbare booths, picking through thin chips and burgers smaller than Harry's hand. Or at least one of them was. Harry had paused to watch as Draco took his first bite before freezing himself, staring at his little cardboard pocket of chips.

"This is…" he said lowly.

Harry cocked his head, chip to his lips. "Hm?"

"It tastes disgusting," Draco said. "Yet also somehow delicious."

Harry grinned. "Welcome to the world of McDonalds, Draco."

Draco glanced up at him and his smile returned. It was even a little wider this time. He fell back to his meal a moment later, humming contentedly to himself with each bite as though he was reassessing his judgement with every mouthful.

And Harry could only continue to stare.

He was still staring as Draco dusted his hands with more refinement than the McDonalds shopfront had likely ever seen and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "That was certainly an experience," he said, finally raising his gaze towards Harry. He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you not going to eat that?"

Harry dropped his gaze down to his own barely touched burger. It wasn't that he wasn't a hungry, but the coiling of his belly and his inability to do anything much besides watch Draco was something of a deterrent. He took a slurp from his shake instead and shrugged.

"You can have them if you'd like," he said, and almost smiled at himself for his own words. Never in the world would Harry ever make such allowances with Jackie or his parents. Maybe Remus, but Sirius? There had been dining table brawls over stolen food before.

When Draco began picking at Harry's chips, Harry shook his head and couldn't help but smile. "I still can't believe you've never had McDonalds before."

Draco shrugged. "It's an upper-class thing," he said.

Harry scrunched his nose. "Ew."

"What?"

"Classist, much?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

There wasn't as much disgruntlement in Draco's tone as Harry would have anticipated, which was the only reason he didn't drop the subject immediately. They'd had a pleasant day so far. Fun, even. He didn't want to ruin it by having a debate and triggering Draco's aristocratic snottiness.

Even so, Harry couldn't just let the subject lie. If the bullying he'd endured his entire life had taught him anything it was that he shouldn't take shit without a fight. Taking another sip of his shake, Harry shrugged with forced nonchalance. "Just that you seem to think you're above this sort of thing because you're upper class and all that."

Draco frowned. "Because I don't eat fast food?"

He still wasn't scowling, still wasn't sneering, and Harry supposed that was a good thing. It certainly made it easier to continue with the tentative hope that Draco wouldn't take his words too personally. "I've never really had much time for people like you," he said.

"People like me?"

"Hm," Harry hummed around his straw. "People who think they're above me and all that because they have more social status or whatever." He continued as Draco's brow furrowed and hastened to add, "but you're not all that bad, Draco. I mean, you seem like a bit of an arse most of the time, but for the rest of it – yeah, not so bad."

Draco blinked. His mouth opened then closed. He seemed at a momentary loss for words, which Harry silently congratulated himself for. Even better that his muteness didn't seem to be driven by disgruntlement but rather confusion. That was a very good thing. Harry had never been particularly good at keeping his thoughts to himself; blurting them out at inopportune moments had gotten him into a fix more than once. It was a good thing that Draco at least knew how he felt about him.

Or at least some of how he felt.

"Me too," Draco said.

At Harry's raised eyebrow, Draco lowered his gaze and stole another chip. His long fingers made the motion impossibly elegant. "I mean that I've never had much to do with people like you."

It was strange that, given Harry had said almost exactly the same thing to him, he felt his hackles rise. Chewing on his straw, he ground a chip into potato mush on his tray. "You mean a Muggle," he said.

At Draco's glance, a slightly wary glance with only his eyes and chin still lowered, Harry pursed his lips. He exhaled sharply, bubbles erupting below the lid. "I don't know what Muggle means, Draco, but I can recognise belittlement when I see it. I've had more than enough experience."

"Experienced?" Draco asked.

"It's not the word itself but the implications that matter," Harry said. He hunched his shoulders slightly. "I might be a bit of a hypocrite for saying this, but just because you see me as less than you doesn't mean that I'm more stupid, or less capable, or… or… I don't know, unworthy of respect. Who you're born as and where you're born shouldn't matter. It's what you make of yourself."

Snapping his jaw shut, Harry glared down at the mushed mess he'd made. He couldn't look at Draco after his brief tirade, and not only because he felt more than a little embarrassed. It was the truth, and he worried that, if Draco thought less of him for it, then he would act upon the indignation that would likely arise. Harry didn't want to punch Draco in the face, but he would if he reared like the prat seated atop his high-horse that he'd been when Harry had first met him.

"I agree."

Harry blinked. For a moment, he continued to stare at his tray, almost unable to believe his ears. Then he slowly raised his gaze to meet Draco's. "Huh?"

Draco was frowning. Elbows propped on the edge of the sticky table, his gaze was turned out the window into the cool afternoon, following the sparse dribble of cars that glided along the wide street. When he continued, he was still staring. "Hogwarts very strongly emphasises class distinctions. Or at least they do in Slytherin. People like myself are shepherded together like there's a risk we might contaminate the rest of the students."

Harry slowly lowered his drink to the table. "What?"

"People like me –"

"Aristocrats, right?" Harry nodded as Draco glanced at him sidelong. "You're all put into the slither-in dormitory?"

"Slytherin, yes."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Draco's lips thinned, his jaw bunching as he clenched his teeth. "Not necessarily. They're the people I grew up with. But there's a certain stigma attached to Slytherin due to an unfortunate history, and that stigma still clings to everyone who is assigned to that house."

"A stigma?" Harry frowned. This house system seemed ridiculously exclusive. Or at least it did how Draco was describing it. Harry had thought they were simply a means of organisation. "What kind of stigma?"

Draco still didn't turn towards him. His backs straightened slightly, almost rigidly. To make himself taller? Stronger? To fortify himself? Harry wondered why. "There was a man, years ago, who gave Slytherin a bad name for the cult that he formed from its members."

"A bad man?" Harry attempted a smile. "So a politician?"

Draco didn't even blink with a hint of amusement. "No," he said flatly. "A criminal. He killed a lot of people and injured countless more. He tore families apart."

Briefly, Harry was sure Draco was joking. His words, so serious and blunt, were so at odds with the vibrant, reeking McDonalds that it had to be. A murderer? Someone who'd killed 'a lot of people' and whose legacy had affected generations to come? Generations _at the school?_ It seemed like a story from a fairytale. An admittedly grim tale, but fictional nonetheless.

But Draco didn't retract his words. If anything, his jaw only tightened further. Harry's hands slipped into his lap, the remains of his lunch forgotten. "Holy shit," he said. "That's kind of intense."

"Something like that," Draco said.

"How long ago was this?" Harry was surprised he hadn't heard of it, especially if it was only fairly recent.

"A couple of decades. It was kept somewhat under wraps."

"Under wraps?" Harry snorted. "How do you cover up a whole bunch of murders just like that?"

Draco finally turned towards him. The ghost of a smile touched his lips, though it didn't seem all that amused. "Magic," he said simply.

Harry scowled. This was hardly the kind of situation to make light of. He brushed the feeble jest aside, however, dropping his elbows onto the table and leaning towards Draco. "So this bloke, this murderer guy –"

"Murderer guy?" Draco interrupted, his lips twitching.

Harry flapped a hand at him. "Whatever. Anyway, he was a Slytherin, so now everyone since he was around who is in Slytherin too has a black mark against their name?"

Draco nodded with resumed sobriety. "Unfortunately, those that were involved in his cult still exist today. Some even have children who attend Hogwarts."

It took only a second for the meaning of Draco's words to click into place. So then Draco was…? "Holy shit," Harry said once more.

Draco's lips twitched again. "Appropriate."

"So that's why everyone else in Hogwarts hates you?" Memory of Ron's palpable dislike rose to the forefront of his mind.

"Well, not everyone –"

"And why you and Pansy and your other friends excluded yourselves from your classmates on the first day?" The green- and silver-tied students had definitely been isolated, if Harry recalled correctly. It had been why Jackie had approached them in the first place.

Draco grunted. "The exclusion isn't entirely on our part."

Harry barely heard him. "That's why you all kind of cling to each other like you're holding each other afloat?"

Draco huffed, rolling his eyes. "We do not cling to one another. Friendship entails companionship."

Harry grinned. The subject was a heavy one, and it explained about Draco's character far more thoroughly than Harry had explored before. Why he seemed so detached from his peers, or why he didn't seem fond of any outside of his friends to the point that he seemed to actually shun them. It reminded Harry more of his own circumstances. Even on the tail end of a story of a murderer, the realisation sparked warmth in Harry's belly.

They were a little bit the same. Just a little. "Even so," Harry continued, grasping at sense and logic, "just because you've been bullied doesn't give you the right to look down your nose at me and my friends."

"We haven't been bullied, Harry," Draco grunted.

"Oh, my mistake. From experience, that seems to be what it sounded like."

Draco frowned. "Experience?" he said. His eyes narrowed slightly as he eyed Harry. "I had wondered with yourself and Jacqueline –"

"What's more important," Harry overrode him. He didn't want to have that particular discussion just yet; not when he was growing increasingly aware of his mounting crush. "Is what _you're_ doing."

Draco paused, his lips still parted. "What I'm doing?"

"Yeah." Harry picked up his drink once more, biting the end of his straw. "Just because you've been looked down on or whatever doesn't mean you have the right to look down on others. I don't care how much money your parents make or how big your house is or – or how 'clean' your blood is or whatever. Don't," he pointed a finger at Draco, "look down on me."

Fingers tapping an irregular beat on the table between them, Draco regarded him. It was an intense stare, and one that Harry had found himself the subject of on numerous occasions that day. He liked it as much as it disconcerted him.

"I'm not looking down on you," Draco said after a long pause.

Harry snorted.

"I'm serious," Draco said, voice rising slightly.

"Maybe not so much anymore," Harry ceded. "But you certainly did when we first met."

"I can't change how I acted."

"No," Harry said, nodding. "But you can change how you act from now on. You can't tell me that you don't look down on me and my friends. Hell, you even my school."

"Asking me to consider all of your classmates worthy of respect is both ludicrous and impossible," Draco grumbled. He sounded like a petulant child, right down to twist of his lips.

Harry shrugged. He hadn't really expected Draco to agree to change entirely. "I'll settle for just me and my friends to start with, then."

"To start with?" Draco's lips twisted further. "What do you mean with –?"

"You could start by not calling us Muggles, for one," Harry said.

Draco blinked. "But it's what you are," he said blankly.

Harry sighed. Such ignorance. It was the same excuse, if not quite so maliciously spoken, as that given by the bullies who called him 'poof' or 'fairy'. "When you use it as an insult, it's not really just a description," Harry said.

The intensity of Draco's regard spiked further at that. Before Harry's eyes, something seemed to change. It shifted, morphing slightly, and though he wasn't sure what it was, it was as though a switch had been flicked behind Draco's eyes.

He nodded slowly, sitting just as slowly back in his seat. "Alright," he said, folding his hands on the table before him. "If it's upsetting you, I won't call you a Muggle. Even if it's what you are."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly. "In return, I won't call you an arrogant, stuck-up, aristocratic, pig-faced prat, even if that's what _you_ are. Fair?"

Draco blinked. "Excuse me?"

Harry grinned. He took an loud slurp of his drink, happier for the situation and their conversation despite that there had been little romance to the one-sided date. Even the story of a murderer hanging over them and classist undertones at the forefront of his mind couldn't erase the buzzing contentedness nestle in Harry's belly.

"I think this is progress," he said. "Look at all the work we've done today."

"Work?" Draco said, eyebrow arching. "We did precious little study, if you'll recall."

"And whose fault was that?"

"I wasn't blaming you specifically."

"No, you were just trying to share the blame."

Draco harrumphed. "Well, you were also a key player in that you were the one providing the distraction."

"I can't believe you're pinning this on me!" Harry exclaimed. Then he dissolved into laughter and, if it was louder than the situation warranted, he didn't really care.

They had made progress, he and Draco, both independently and as partners. While there might have been a distinct lack of study, Harry didn't think it had been a waste of time at all. Far from it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING - blatant homophobia makes an appearance. Again. Sorry.

Winter fell upon Potting Point almost too quickly for Harry to shrug into a scarf and jacket. Exposed as it was barely a handful of kilometres from the shoreline, the easterly winds that whipped inland seemed to carry every chill and nipping, biting snap of early frost that managed to muscle its way across the waves.

Not that Harry minded. It made for a bit of a shaky start when he ran to his bus stop in the morning, but it wasn't so bad.

"Bye, Mum!" he threw over his shoulder as he pulled the door closed behind him. Lily's reply was muffled, but Harry hardly heard it as he skipped the front steps. He was running by the time he reached the gate and hurdled over it in a springing leap.

Harry felt good. Happy. And, given it was Wednesday, it was bound to be a good day. For certain reasons in particular, Wednesday had become his favourite day of the week.

Harry was smiling as he raced towards his bus stop, and it had nothing to do with the mild chill of the morning. Nothing at all.

* * *

"I think that would just make it messy."

"Messy? Hardly. Props only add to the theatrical appeal of the production."

Harry rolled his eyes for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon. "It's a presentation, Draco. Not a theatre performance. It's not supposed to be theatrical."

At his side, semi-reclined in his uncomfortable seat with his legs kicked out before him, Draco arched an eyebrow. With a slow, deliberate motion, he folded his arms across his chest. "This is one instance I will put my foot down, Harry."

Harry sighed. Throughout the room, the wealth of chatter and bubbling laughter was thicker than what usually infected the hall. Their final class before the Christmas break found many with itchy feet and drifting attention, eager for freedom.

Harry was much the same. Or at least he pretended to be. Wednesday afternoons with Draco happened to be quite enjoyable, despite the added studying component.

Because it was. It was him and Draco. The exclusion had been gradual over the weeks, but a glance towards where Jackie and Pansy sat alongside one another proved that much, at least. Jackie was peering closely at a dusty tome, muttering in what could be to herself as to Pansy. Not that Pansy seemed to be listening; legs crossed, a tiny vial of nail polish balanced atop her knee, she had spent the past half an hour meticulously painting them with surprisingly intricate patterns.

Jackie and Pansy weren't exclusive – or at least not to one another. To Jackie's not-so-silent satisfaction, Pansy appeared to approve of her bluntness and, more so in Harry's opinion, her bloodthirstiness. Harry had never quite understood Jackie's fascination with all things grim and gritty, but it seemed to have done her well in this instance. Pansy had actually smiled at Jackie that week.

Neither of them contributed to the assignment, however. And neither would they, if Harry's past experiences with Jackie were any precedent. Draco had suggested the same for Pansy.

"I've been pulling her weight for the last six years of school," he'd said, absently flipping through a book. "She's not stupid, but I'm smarter, and thus apparently responsible for pulling her sorry arse through her education. Childhood friends are a menace."

Once, Draco statement would have seemed a disinterested, arrogant, and derisive. Now, Harry couldn't help but smile. He was starting to learn the little pieces of Draco's words, the parts that slipped through and showed the real him. Like that he might complain and yet he still 'pulled her weight' when he had no real obligation to. Like that he admitted she wasn't stupid, and even his recognition that he was smarter was as more of a statement of fact than a boast.

Besides that, he called her an arse. Harry… sort of loved it. Any break from his composure and aloofness was a moment he grasped with both hands. Draco was still a prat, and he still glared at his classmates as often as the Potting Point kids, still questioned the necessity of their joint classes at all – but he was kind of cool.

It wasn't just because he was hot. Not just because Harry could relate to his experience of being marginalised and ostracised, even if their circumstances were different. Not because he was the only person helping Harry with their assignment, or because he seemed to have leant into their research in a manner that bespoke real interest. Not even because he still watched Harry's magic tricks with keen fascination, though that was certainly a part of it.

It was all of that. Draco wasn't as much of a prat as the prefect Ron Weasley would have had him believe.

"He's been an insufferable git since we started at Hogwarts," Ron had told Harry several weeks before as he'd swung past to pick up Jill. "Bet he didn't tell you even half the stuff he's done."

Harry had only shrugged. No, he supposed Draco probably hadn't told him that he'd picked fights with the so-called Gryffindors, and scolded the younger students in his own role as prefect himself, or that his Head of House favoured the Slytherins and he apparently used that to his advantage. Ron had been the one to tell Harry that.

But then, Ron hadn't told him that he'd picked just as many fights with Draco, or that their families had a feud that had, impossibly, lasted for generations, or of the wealth of petty squabble and dirty pranks pulled in the name of a sports match lost or a test beaten in.

In Harry's opinion, they were as bad as each other. It didn't saying much for either of them but served to even the stakes just a little. It soothed the scepticism Harry had when he fully accepted that he had a giant bloody crush on Draco Malfoy.

It was wonderfully horrifying.

Sitting alongside Draco as he crossed his ankles, eyebrow twitching a little higher, Harry sighed heavily once more. It was mostly a façade; he was a little exasperated by Draco's theatrics, but didn't mind quite so much as he pretended to. Besides, Harry had loved the attention his own brand of magical drama had gotten him once upon a time. Loved it until it had become a detriment. What struck him the most was how Draco seemed to brighten slightly when they had a disagreement, as though he delighted in defending his own opinions. As if it were a game, even.

It was kind of weird, but the touch of satisfaction and, daresay, happiness evident in Draco made it worth it to Harry. Definitely.

With a flick of his wrist, Harry set to spinning his pen between his fingers in a flying pattern that Draco had once called magic. It wasn't, merely took practice and dexterity, but Harry made a point of performing whenever he had the chance.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he asked.

Draco's lips curled in the smallest of smiles. "Not for a moment."

"Costumes, then? Curtains, candles, a blood-red table cloth and –"

"Make it sacramento green and I'll consider," Draco said. "Not that ghastly red."

"Sacramento green?" Harry snorted. "Who the fuck says 'sacramento green'?" He nudged Draco's leg with his foot before tucking it onto the edge of his chair as Draco made to poke him back. Harry kind of liked that he did, too. It was almost friendly.

"I do, clearly," Draco said, dropped his foot from the expected retaliatory kick. "It's called proper English."

"Pompous English, you mean."

"Sophisticated."

Harry tapped his pen onto the pad of paper on his lap. "We're talking about the colour of a tablecloth, Draco. And, given how shit our list of supplies is so far, I think that's the least of our worries."

"You're looking at purchasing materials for the presentation and exhibition already?" Pansy asked, speaking up for the first time in almost an hour. Or speaking to Harry and Draco for the first time; she'd commented in return to Jackie's idle ponderings as she flicked through _Greatest Medieval Executions_ or whatever it was she'd gotten her hands on that day. The deaths of long-passed queens apparently warranted more attention than school projects.

"Don't you have to actually work out what you're saying and all before doing that?" Jackie said, flopping her book onto her thighs as she too turned towards them. "There's no way you're ready to start any of that yet."

"Your assistance could surely assist in overcoming that delay," Draco drawled.

Jackie scrunched her nose. "Are you kidding me? I don't do the study thing. Trust me, you wouldn't want me to help. Right, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to deny her but fell silent with a resigned shrug. She was right. The last time Jackie had tried to 'help' Harry with their group project she'd nearly burnt their kitchen down. That had been three years ago.

"It's better not to bother," Harry said to Draco before turning back to Jackie. "Actually, we've pretty much drafted the presentation. Just got to bulk it out."

Jackie smirked. "Bullshit."

"Huh?"

"You haven't been working that efficiently. I've been here all this time."

"Yee of little faith," Harry said, though he didn't elaborate further. He wasn't exactly going to tell Jackie that his meetings with Draco on the weekends had continued, and of a much more productive manner – though less stimulating, in Harry's opinion. He thought they'd probably rifled through every book on magic, allegedly real and otherwise, that existed in Potting Point Library.

"As a matter of fact," Draco said, uncrossing his legs and straightening in his seat, "Harry and I have been most efficient. I daresay that we should finish any remaining leads in our research in the next few sessions and shall be able to produce the end product weeks in advance for the presentation."

"Good," Pansy said, not looking up from frowning at her nails. "You can help me practice what I've got to say. I'm assuming I'm saying something in this presentation?"

"Naturally," Draco said.

"Well, we're not working over our holidays," Jackie said, snapping her book closed. "That's not what Christmas is for."

"Aren't you in your final year?" Draco said, sarcasm lathering his tone so thickly that Harry couldn't help but grin. "I believe that studious investment is expected of you."

Jackie pulled a face. "Nerd."

Pansy huffed in something that might have been a laugh, but when Harry glanced towards her not a hint of a smile touched her lips. "He's always been strangely dedicated."

"Harry too," Jackie said, shooting Harry an exasperated glance. "For someone who apparently prefers sport over school, he does far less actual sporting than he does homework. You're a failure of a jock, Harry."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Harry said.

"Because it is."

"No, it's not."

"Every afternoon, Harry. I can't believe that a friend of mine would do such a thing."

"Aren't you in your final year?" Draco repeated.

"Quiet, nerd," Jackie back shot at him. "Sixth form is as much about celebrating our youth as it is studying."

"Celebrating our youth," Harry echoed, shaking his head. Jackie certainly lived up to such ideals. "I take it Jill and I will have to pick up your slack when you don't open a single textbook over Christmas, then?"

Jackie grinned. "You will if you love me."

"I'm questioning my love."

"No, you're not."

"Fine. You're not getting a present this year, then."

"Oh, bullshit! If I don't get a present then I'm egging your house!"

Harry flung his pen at her, and she only just managed to dodge out of the way as it sailed through the air. "Like hell you will. You love my parents too much."

Jackie sighed. "True. It's a real shame they have such an arsehole of a son."

"Bitch."

"Dickhead."

"I trust you'll be upholding your end of the study duties with more dedication that Jacqueline will," Draco asked Harry. He always used Jackie's full name, pointedly ignoring that she hated it as he'd grown so adept at doing. "Yes?"

Harry turned from Jackie, tucking his legs beneath. "'Course. I'll finish up my end of the draft and mail it to you if you'd like, and I'll head down to _Tricks of the Trade_ and have a chat to Stuart."

"The magician?" Draco asked, clarifying as he had every time since Harry had first mentioned his comrade-in-arms at the local party supplies store. As always, he sounded derisively dubious.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You don't need to be so skeptical. He's a top bloke."

"Not a real magician, though."

"More real than me."

Draco grunted but didn't otherwise reply. He didn't need to. Harry knew that, for whatever reason, Draco seemed to think he held credentials above his standing. He was wrong, of course, and Harry was nothing if not a moderately adept street-performer, but… it was nice. The now-familiar warm flutter buzzed in his chest as always seemed to arise when Draco turned his favour upon him.

 _I'm so whipped_ , Harry thought to himself not for the first time before quickly smothering the thought. "You said you'll check out the library near where your parents live, right?"

Draco nodded. "Correct. I'm sure they'll have a wealth of historical resources."

"Not on the occult, remember."

Draco poked his knee with a toe, invoking the same fluttering warmth spreading from the point of contact. "No, Harry. As I've told you, I'm not confusing real magic with 'the occult'."

"Just so we're clear," Harry said. Which they were. Harry didn't need to remind Draco to research what he considered 'real' magic. The history of paganism, for one, and how it affected modern magic shows, despite that modern magic was far from the witchery and enchantments of centuries before. Harry still hadn't been able to convince Draco that 'real' magic wasn't actually real, but it didn't matter so much anymore. Not when Draco looked at him like he was truly interested when Harry showed him tricks and sleight of hand.

"You'll write me back, yeah?" Harry asked, just to be sure.

"Of course," Draco said. "I'll keep you updated on my findings."

"Hey, hey, hey," Jackie said, interrupting them with sudden attentiveness. "What's this? Are you two setting up secret trysts?"

Glancing towards her, Harry saw that both she and Pansy had disregarded whatever exchange they'd been having. They were surprisingly similar in their sharp-eyed stares. Surprisingly critical too despite that Jackie held a book on executions with a rather gruesome depiction of a beheading on the page and Pansy her hand aloft and fingers curled to dry.

Fighting the urge to sink into his seat, Harry raised a casual eyebrow. "Well, some of us actually need to work if we're going to get anything done."

"That wasn't what she was referring to," Pansy said, her own eyebrow arching. "Are you two having secret exchanges now?"

"Secret?" Harry asked, hoping his cheeks weren't as red as their warmth suggested they were. He couldn't look at Jackie, not if he hoped to retain his dignity, so instead stared at Pansy as though he were the most innocent seventeen-year-old in the world.

"In case you've forgotten, Pansy," Draco said, as nonchalantly as ever, "you've seen me receive rather unconventional mail of late."

Harry glanced at him sidelong. Unconventional? What did that mean?

Pansy pouted. "You could have told me you were corresponding with Muggles," she said.

"Wasn't that obvious?" Draco replied. "And I thought we agreed not to call Harry and Jacqueline that."

"You decided, you mean."

Harry swallowed his delight, and he knew he wasn't entirely successful as Jackie shot him with a very knowing smirk. What could he say? It was definitely a turn-on that, for all of his prejudices to 'the lower class' of Muggles or whatever it was, he changed a little because Harry had asked him to. How could Harry not feel something for that? A Draco Malfoy who was both fit and actually considerate? It kept getting better and better.

"Regardless," Draco was saying, "Harry and I will likely have to continue to work on the project over the break, despite our efficiency."

"Yes, I'm sure you simply have to," Pansy muttered, to which Draco shot her a narrow-eyed glance that seemed to say something his closed lips didn't. Harry wasn't entirely sure what that something was.

"We could meet up over the break," Jackie abruptly suggested.

Harry dragged his attention from staring at Draco. "What?"

Jackie nodded with increasing vigour. "Yeah, that's an idea. What do you say, Pansy?"

Pansy hummed, regarding her nails as she absently screwed the cap back on the polish's vial. "It depends on what we do, I suppose. Nothing too Muggle."

"Pansy," Draco said again.

"Get over yourself," Jackie said, far less indignantly than she would have only a handful of weeks before. Harry wasn't the only one with a crippling crush, after all. "We'll do something fun."

"Something educational?" Draco asked. Harry bit back a grin. He wondered if Jackie had learnt to discern the sarcasm in Draco's tone, too.

Jackie scowled. "Alright, nerd, what do you suggest?"

"The library?" Harry suggested. Only to curse himself and wish he could retract the statement as soon as he'd said it. The library had become his and Draco's place in the past weeks, and even if Remus had stumbled across them a time or two when he happened to be working on the weekend, it still felt somehow private.

Thankfully, Jackie immediately pulled a face, Pansy an almost identical one a moment later. "Ew," Jackie said. "No. I said no study over the break."

"So not educational?" Draco asked, sarcasm resurfacing.

"Alright, alright, wanker," Jackie said. "We'll do something academic. Maybe…" She trailed off, raising her book to tap it thoughtfully against her chin. It slapped down into her lap a moment later when her face suddenly lit up. "Oh! Harry, we could go to that magic show down in London!"

"A magic show?" Pansy asked, her usual wariness returning as it so often did.

Jackie waved her book at her. "Don't worry, it's not real magic. Just the kind of tricks that Harry used to do, except that this guy does it as a job."

"Used to?" Draco echoed quietly. Harry's glance towards him found Draco peering at him sidelong. This time, Harry didn't bother to attempt to supress the warmth in his cheeks. There was no point in trying. What was there to do when Draco looked at him like he was something special?

Swallowing thickly, Harry deliberately dragged his attention back to Jackie. "You're really prepared for the drive down to London?" he asked. "That's a bit of a trip."

"Are you questioning my road tripping abilities?" she asked.

"If our last trip down south is any indication, then yes."

Jackie harrumphed. "Look, three toilet stops isn't really that much –"

"In five hours?"

"I drank a lot, okay."

"So no fizzy for you to wash down the kilo of jelly beans you're bringing with you?"

Jackie swiped Harry's previously flung pen off the floor and lobbed it back at him, to which Harry snatched it easily from the air. "Like hell. You can't have a road trip without jelly beans."

"So it's decided, then?" Draco asked. "You're going to this… show?"

Harry shrugged as casually as he could manage. He might disregard it as being 'too much of a trek', but magic and tricks had been a part of his life for so long that he couldn't help but love anything even vaguely related. Even if he had dropped his practise years ago, that interest had been rekindled into something new. Perhaps he could even pick up a thing or two. Harry usually only had to see something once or twice for him to be able to unravel the mechanics of it. Somehow, his fingers seemed to just make it work, as though they had a mind of their own.

If Draco was going to come, it would only be made it so, so much better.

"Sure," Harry said. "Did you want to join us?"

Draco turned towards Pansy, his lips drawing to the side. "Pansy and I both live just outside of London, so perhaps."

Harry bit back a regretful sigh that there would be no joint road trip and shrugged once more. "You could meet us there."

"Yes, perhaps," Draco said, still regarding Pansy in the silent communication they shared.

Pansy wasn't looking at him, instead inspecting her fingers and the effort she'd invested for the past hour of class. She hummed noncommittally but still added, "Sure. Whatever."

Jackie beamed, and Harry could feel his own smile spreading almost without his consent. He turned back to Draco as Draco said, "Well, then. I suppose that's sorted. Will you write me the when and where?"

Class drew to a close shortly after, the drone of the bell echoing through the hall in a weary buzz. Jackie was up and out the door in seconds, Pansy not far behind her, but Harry, as he'd taken to of late, took his time. Draco never seemed to dart like a fleeing fish from class quite like his friend did, and Harry was more than happy to spend the remaining time of packing their chairs away with him.

 _Bloody hell, I really am whipped_ , he thought as he dragged his chair to the side of the room. Not that he could do much about that fact, but it was a little embarrassing to admit, even to himself.

Still, when he and Draco stepped into the crowded corridor amongst squishing and fleeing students, and when Draco tapped his elbow to gain his attention and draw him to the side, Harry stopped. He would have stopped even if the crowds around him had insisted on dragging him away with them with the force of mob mentality.

"What's up?" he asked as they drew along the side of the corridor. He could hardly hear his own words for the noise around them.

"How long does your school get off over the Christmas period?" Draco asked, leaning against the side of the wall with all of the casual, elegant grace Harry knew came so easily to him. Maybe there was something to be said for an aristocratic upbringing; Harry was sure he couldn't make a simple slouch look so classy.

"A couple of weeks," he replied. "You?"

"The same." Draco frowned silently for a moment, clicking his tongue thoughtfully, before continuing. "Would you be open to meeting to study at some point in that period?"

Harry stared at him. For a moment, he could do little else. Draco… had just asked him… to meet? Over Christmas? Because they weren't seeing one another for two weeks?

Harry knew he was interpreting it the wrong way. He knew that it was for study, or for the strange obsession that Draco had with his magic tricks. Each and every time they met at the library he requested one or two demonstrations, despite exhausting Harry's inventory. He had specifics that he would ask for a repeat performance of, and Harry…

Though he didn't necessarily like being the focus of keen attentiveness, being the focus of Draco's was bloody brilliant.

Fighting the urge to grin like an idiot – because Draco was only asking to study, and just to study – Harry nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, sure, that sounds great. Although, if you're all the way down south, did you want me to meet you halfway or…?"

"I'll come up here still," Draco said. "I don't mind the travel."

It was just getting better and better. Draco didn't mind an six-hour trip just to come up to Potting Point from London? Or would he stay overnight? Should Harry offer him a bed?

The thought was tempting, and in spite of himself, Harry was on the verge of offering just that before they were rudely interrupted. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

Abruptly, the thought dissipated. Strange, how euphoria could so quickly morph into foreboding. Strange too how that foreboding could just as readily evolve into brewing, resentful anger.

Turning sharply, Harry shot a glare at the quartet of boy swaggering down the rapidly quietened corridor. Harry hadn't even notice it empty. The echoes of conversation, the ring of footsteps, was like a distant hum on the edges of Harry's hearing. Not far away he knew that Mrs. Joyce and McGonagall were sweeping through the hall to ensure all chairs were properly packed away, but otherwise there was no one to witness. None but Harry, Draco, and the four boys who had subjected Harry to relentless bullying for years.

Folding his arms, Harry planted himself between Draco and his classmates. He knew he wasn't tall, knew he wasn't big by any stretch, and when compared to someone like Jacob lead the approaching group, he was practically diminutive. Their comparative size and confidence in their superiority was made only more apparent by the casual swagger of their almost synchronous steps, the artfully rumpled slovenliness of their uniforms, the smirks and sidelong glances they shared that bespoke an unvoiced threat. But that didn't matter. If didn't matter because Harry could feel his hackles rise and a rumble build in his chest.

Bambi, his parents called him. No, Harry wasn't a Bambi. Not then.

"What the fuck do you want, Jacob?" Harry said.

Jacob halted a handful of steps away, Bruce, Keith, and Leonard behind him in a half circle. He smiled, but it looked more like a scowl. He didn't reply to Harry's words but instead tipped his head towards Draco over his shoulder. "You hanging with prep kids now, Evans?"

"Boarding school," Harry said shortly. "Get your facts straight before you speak, Jacob, or you sound like even more of an idiot than you are."

"So mouthy," Jacob said.

"Surprised he would dare," Keith said, still behind him. He wore a sharp smile seeming all the sharper for his pointed chin. Keith was as thin as a knife and just as cruel. "Not without his girlfriend to back him up."

"Pathetic, that you need to be protected by a girl, Evans," Bruce said with a snicker.

"And not girlfriends," Leonard added. "The fucking poofta."

Harry couldn't speak. He wanted to – God he wanted to – but he couldn't. There was so much of what was launched at him in barely a handful of words that he objected to, so much that he wished to defend of himself and Jackie, for the slight of their words, the assumptions and the derision.

But he couldn't. Harry couldn't speak because Draco was there. Draco, who didn't know he was gay. Draco, who didn't know anything of the bullying, who hadn't known he was gay, who hadn't had the time to judge him, who'd just been told –

"Finally got yourself a boyfriend, have you, Evans?" Jacob's scowling smile curled wider. "How sad for you, that you had to fish all the way up in Scotland for someone who'll consider you. Unless you're dating him against his will? Poor bastard."

Harry's blood froze. Any lingering warmth seemed to drain from his face, his ears ringing with Jacob's words. He could hardly breath, could barely move, and yet somehow he managed to turn just enough to glance at Draco over his shoulder.

Draco had his chin raised, shoulders set, and his chilling gaze narrowed. "Pray tell," he said slowly, so coldly that he seemed almost to be breathing frost, "just what do you think you're talking about?"

"Oh, he doesn't know after all," Keith said with a chuckle that he might have intended to sound regretful but instead grated on Harry's nerves like a metal file.

"Hasn't Evans told you his dirty little secret, mate?" Jacob asked, taking a slouching step forwards. He didn't look at Draco, eyes fixed instead on Harry. "Evans, that's wrong of you. You should be more honest."

If Jackie was there, Harry could have kept his cool. He was the level-headed one of them both and he'd had more than enough practise. If Jill was there, he thought he could have too, because she was like the calm in the middle of the storm to shelter in. But alone? Alone, Harry had no hope.

"Shut the fuck up," he said lowly.

Jacob's smile bared his teeth. "Touched a nerve, have we, Evans?"

"Do you mind?" Draco said from behind Harry. Or beside him, Harry realised, as he took his own step forwards. "We were in the middle of a conversation that you rudely interrupted. You'll have to bother someone else, given you so clearly seek the attention of the little children you are."

The sheer condescension in Draco words was beautiful, and at any other time Harry would have bathed in the snarky retort. But not then. Especially not when Leonard snorted loudly enough to echo through the now-empty corridor. "Having a little lover's chat with the fairy of Potting Point, eh, Prep Boy? Watch out, 'cause if he gets his teeth into you he might just –"

"I said, shut the fuck up, arsehole," Harry said, whipping his gaze towards Leonard. "Just because you've got a pathetic love life and can't think with your brain instead of your dick doesn't mean everyone else does."

Leonard twitched, then took a lunging step forwards, but Jacob who reacted faster. He swept his arm across Leonard, halting him in step, while swinging the other at Harry. In a second, Harry found himself on his toes, Jacob's fist clenching the collar of his shirt and raising him from the ground in an iron-fisted grip. He lost his breath momentarily but not his glare.

"Hey," Draco said, his voice sharp, loud, and rising with something that sounded almost concerned. Harry wanted to look at him but couldn't even if Jacob's grasp had allowed him to. "What are you -? Put him down, you –"

"Shut your trap, kid," Jacob snapped at him, not even sparing him a glance from where he met Harry's eyes with a narrowed stare. "This is Potting Point business."

"It's utterly pathetic, is what it is," Draco said, though the sharpness of his words bellied their condescension this time. "I said put him down."

Jacob's fist didn't loosen. If anything it tightened further, the collar cutting into Harry's throat and lifting him higher onto his toes. Though Jacob's smile remained fixed, he was clearly anything but amused. It didn't scare Harry. Didn't intimidate him. He wasn't scared of them, had long ago moved past any fear – at least for himself. What did scare him was the sudden prospect of his lifelong bullies turning their attacks on Draco felt suddenly disastrous. Far worse than anything they could do to Harry, anyway.

Grasping Jacob's wrist, as much to hold himself steady as to loosen Jacob's hold, Harry spared a glance for Draco. "Draco, stop it. It's fine. You just – just go. You'll miss your bus."

Draco was still at his side, and for once, he wasn't casually lounging in stillness. He stood straight and tall, taller than Harry had known he could be, with his shoulders rigidly squared, jaw clenched, and hands balled into fists. Or at least on hand was; the other was stuffed almost awkwardly in his pocket, as though grasping a weapon. For a crazily moment, Harry wondered if he had actually had one.

Keith was speaking before Draco could reply. "Aw, look at that. He's getting all protective of his fairy boyfriend now, too."

Harry had to briefly close his eyes. He hadn't wanted Draco to find out. Not like this. Something like this, like Harry choosing to come out when and to whom, should have been his decision. His.

"Don't cry, Evans," Jacob said, and Harry snapped his eyes open. "You should have expected it, really. I warned you what would happen if you try any of that sick crap around here."

"Sick crap?" Draco all but hissed.

Suddenly, Harry decided he'd had enough. The coldness in his veins abruptly grew hot, the frozen horror of his limbs bunching in readiness. His grasp squeezed one-handed around Jacob's wrist even as his other hand dropped to his own pocket.

"You know what, Jacob," he said through gritted teeth, "fuck you. Fuck you and all of your fucking friends, too. Draco," he spared a final glance sidelong for where Draco stood, tense and almost quivering, "you should head out to the bus. I'll see you later."

Then Harry struck.

He hadn't intended to use the powder in his pocket for a distraction against bullies. Truth be told, he hadn't even remembered putting it in there, had only considered doing so days before, and definitely not to use it as he did. For a show, maybe, but for Draco, not a bunch of thick-skulled arseholes with a vendetta against him. It was luck more than anything that he hadn't had a chance to use it that day. Luck, or maybe fate. He certainly hadn't planned a trick with the glittery dust that day.

Truth be told, he couldn't rightly say he remembered putting it in his pocket at all.

But Harry didn't think about that. In a flash he flung the dust into Jacob's face. In the same instant, he raised a knee, jabbed it into Jacob's gut, and wrenched himself backwards from the grasp on his collar.

Jacob gasped, spat, and barked an inarticulate cry. His hand loosened as he stumbled backwards. Like dominoes, Keith crashed into the wall as Jacob tripped into him, Bruce lurched out of the way, and then Leonard was falling head over arse as Harry shoulder-charged him.

He didn't look back as he sped down the corridor. A shout, a cry, a bark of inarticulate words, chased after him, but he didn't slow. Skidding around the corner on squeaky vinyl floors, the echoing "Get the bloody arsehole!" only drove him faster.

Harry fled. He dove down the corridor, around another corner, fingers catching the wall to swing him around and down the next past closed doors and empty rooms. He didn't glance over his shoulder as he heard footsteps drumming in his wake. He didn't slow as he approached the back door of the building, bursting through it and nearly tripping on the other side. He leapt down the short flight of stairs in a single bound, shoes slapping the asphalt, and tore across the emptying school grounds.

Harry hoped that Draco was alright. He hoped that he'd left to find Pansy, had managed to catch his bus as Harry had told him to. He hoped that Jacob and his groupies hadn't divided their forces to hassle him further.

But Harry couldn't spare Draco much more thought than that as he made for the high fence surrounding the school.

He hoped that Jacob was half-blinded by the glitter-dust. He hoped Leonard had bruised his arse when he'd fallen, and that Jacob's stumble had knocked Keith out of play. He hoped that one of them had tripped down the stairs, or that they hadn't seen which direction he'd fled, or that they decided to give up because they knew Harry was fast and he could outrun them, just as he always had.

But Harry hardly thought about that, either. He couldn't let himself hope, especially when the sound of a shout, indiscernible until the echo of "Evans!" chased after him, and instead bounded across the grounds in the direction of the back school gate. It would be emptier out the back. The roundabout route home would help him to lose his tails. He would scrape them free as easily as wiping dog shit from his shoes.

Harry didn't consider that he'd forgotten his schoolbag. He didn't think about where Jackie, Jill, and Abel were likely waiting for him. He only detachedly recalled that Sirius had said he was going to pick him up that day. Harry arced around the back building, as stout and grey as every other in the school, almost slipped on the asphalt, and –

"Fuck!"

The gate. The back gate. The back of the school always all but empty, the gate always open yet leading to a network of rabbit-warren streets in the opposite direction of the bus shelter, the train station. It was always, _always_ open.

Except that day.

Harry didn't know why it was closed but he cursed whatever teacher had forgotten to unlock it. He didn't slow in his headlong charge, however, because the sounds of Jacob, of a grumbling shout that sounded far too much like the Bruce's bellowing tone, nipped at his heels. There was little he could do but –

Run.

He didn't slow.

Three steps, two, and in a leap of faith Harry jumped and –

It all happened so fast. Far too fast. Harry wasn't quite sure how he found himself on his knees, all but sprawled on the ground. For a second, he thought he might have crashed into the gate and been thrown backwards rather than latching onto its heights to scale it, might have rebounded like a doll lobbed at a wall by an objectionable child, but…

Harry threw a glance over his shoulder. Over his shoulder to the fence barely a step behind him. How… had be done that? Had he just blacked out in the frenzy of a desperate moment? He couldn't even remember climbing the fence, let alone reaching the other side, and a second ago… just a second ago, he'd been…

Harry didn't know. He didn't know how he'd managed it but he abruptly didn't car because a moment later Jacob, and then Keith, and then Bruce appeared around the back building, charging like a heard of angry bulls. Even with the fence between them, Harry was pushing himself to his feet in an instant, staggering slightly before lurching into a run for the nearest side-street. Adrenaline still throbbing through him with every heartbeat, his breath shaking with every inhalation, but he only picked up pace as the shouts chased him.

"Oi, Evans!"

"What the fuck?"

"Did he climb the gate?"

"Fucking fairy, how the hell did you –"

"Get back here!"

 _Not likely,_ Harry thought to himself, turning away from his school. Strangely wobbly, he picked up his pace, but he couldn't manage more than a slow jog by the time he'd reached the end of the first street corner. He almost sunk down onto his haunches before a figure appeared as if from nowhere at his shoulder.

Had it been any other situation, any other moment when he wasn't shaken and buzzing with flight instinct, the undignified squawk Harry emitted would have been humiliating. As it was, Harry couldn't care less. Besides, any distress he might have had was entirely forgotten when he was turned, not unkindly Draco's firm hand on his shoulder.

Harry stared at him. For a moment, he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't seeing things. But no, it was definitely Draco standing before him, staring at him with such keen-eyed attentiveness that it was impossible to look away from him. How he'd gotten there, Harry didn't know. It wasn't possible; Harry had been tearing at breakneck speed across the school and had apparently all but flown over a fence, regardless of if he could remember that flight. There was no way Draco could be standing there before him.

Breath heavy with more than exertion, Harry barely managed to speak. "How the hell did you…?"

"You," Draco cut him off, his long fingers tightening on Harry's shoulders. "You're a wizard."

Harry blinked. Once, then again. "What? Draco, how did you get -?"

"You just Apparated," Draco said, cutting him off again, "even though you told me you're not a wizard."

Sagging slightly, Harry raised a hand to his head. It shook, he noted, and couldn't for the life of him think why. The thought was fleeting, however, and far less important than what stood before him.

Harry swept his thumb and forefinger behind his glasses, briefly squeezing his eyes. "How. The fuck. Did you get out here?" he said slowly. Things weren't making sense. "I was literally just chased across the school." They didn't make sense at all. "Not meaning to brag or anything, but there's no way in hell you're a faster runner than me, so how –?"

"I Apparated too."

Harry dropped his hand from his eyes. The momentary blurring of his vision faded slowly as he stared at Draco once more. "What?"

Draco's expression was intent. So intent, so focused, and impossible to look away from even if Harry had wanted to. He felt abruptly exhausted, physically and mentally, but he was strangely captivated by Draco as he had grown increasingly over the weeks.

That captivation careened sidelong, however, when Draco continued. "I'm a wizard, just like you," he said. "I knew you were, though you pretended you weren't. Or do you really, in all honesty, believe that what you do isn't real magic?"

"What?" Harry repeated.

Draco inched a little closer to him, leaning just inside his personal space as though to share a secret. Or an intimate moment. The thought was only half as distracting as it should have been. "You used magic to Apparate past the gate. You can't deny it because I saw you. I Apparated myself to follow you and I saw it all. You have magic, and I've seen it for real now."

"You…?" It really, really wasn't making any sense. Harry raked a hand through his hair. "What? You mean my tricks? What do they have to do with…? Draco, we've been over this, I –"

"You can do magic, just like me," Draco said. He dropped his hand from Harry's shoulder and reached into his pocket, extracting a long rod of muddy-coloured wood longer than his forearm. "You don't have a wand, do you? I presume I would have seen it by now. That means you manage what you do with wandless magic, which is nothing short of incredible."

"Wandless -?" Harry flicked his gaze between the rod and Draco, back and forth. "What are you talking about? Magic is – Draco, we've talked about this, so many fucking times, I don't even know how to…" He cut himself off and squeezed his eyes shut. It had turned into a bad day. A very bad, very confusing day. "I don't know what you're talking about and to be honest, at the moment, I'm kind of having a bit of a mental breakdown after being chased by the arseholes who've terrorised me for most of my life, so I'd appreciate it if you made a little bit of sense. Please."

Silence met his words. Silence that extended for so long, so uncharacteristic of what Harry had grown to know of Draco, that he opened his eyes once more. When he did, it was to find Draco regarding him with a slight frown that was far from unfamiliar to Harry. The frown of interest, consideration, and calculation. The only difference between this and every other time that Draco had worn such an expression when Harry was performing a magic trick was the dawning sense of… wonder?

"You really don't know, do you?" Draco murmured.

"Know what?" Harry asked. The words sounded almost like a plea to his ears. The residue of anger and distress and adrenaline was a sodden mush sitting heavily in his gut. He just wanted to go home, or go and complain to Jackie, or seek Jill and her gentle commiseration that could always soothe emotional wounds despite her inevitable forgiveness of Jacob and his fellow terrorists.

Maybe Draco realised that, for he straightened slightly, tucking the wooden rod away. "I'll have to tell you," he said, decisiveness ringing in his words like a command. "You can't not know, even if you are Muggleborn."

"Draco…"

"This break," Draco continued, nodding to himself, "I'll come to Potting Point every day I can to meet you. You have to learn about magic, especially if you're actually capable of using it."

"Draco," Harry reattempted with a sigh, "I don't know what –"

"The Apparation, the tricks, the sleight of hand that was always more than that." Draco shook his head. "I should have pieced it together before this. The powder was a nice touch by the way."

"Yeah, well," Harry shrugged. He had no idea what Draco was talking about, thought he sounded nothing short of loony, but that one touch of simplicity, of easy explanation, could be clung to like a life raft. "It's always good to come prepared, right?"

"You could say that," Draco said lowly, his curious frown morphing into something else. "Yes. Prepared." He stared at Harry as Harry could only slump in place, his hands slowly ceasing their shaking and to ease the muddle of his thoughts. Only to all but rocked sideways once more when Draco, raising his hand back to Harry's shoulder, said: "thank you."

The world was surely turned on its head. Draco Malfoy saying thank you? From what little Harry knew of him, he was sure that gratitude wasn't something Draco offered freely. Maybe Draco really was crazy. Had Jacob or one of his friends gotten him over the head before they'd chased after Harry? That would explain a lot.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

Draco smiled. A genuine smile that, though it wasn't wide, held a hint of warmth. "Wonderful, actually. And grateful."

"Grateful?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

Harry shrugged under Draco's hand, the hand as warm and strangely comfortable as it shouldn't be with its unfamiliarity. "You don't seem the type, is all."

"You saved me from a horde of pathetic bullies by quite literally throwing yourself to the dragons," Draco said with a shrug of his own. "No one's ever done that for me before."

"That's a little bit sad, Draco."

"Perhaps. I personally find it incredibly attractive, but perhaps that's just me."

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

Draco's smile had returned, but it was slightly different this time. He cocked his head like a curious bird as he considered Harry. "Is it wrong of me to assume from their suggestions? Perhaps it is."

"What?" Harry asked. _Are you… this can't really be…_

"Do you fancy me?"

 _What the bloody hell is going on?_ It was one wave after another; incomprehension and misunderstanding, confusion and ridiculousness, that struck Harry with such overwhelming force that he hadn't the time to recover before the next bout struck. Jacob. The fence. Draco appearing, and then - what, magic? And now this?

In spite of himself, warmth flooded Harry's cheeks. He was acutely aware of Draco's hand still upon his shoulder, of his smile that widened slightly as Harry stuttered a reply. "I… that's not… I mean, it's not wrong, but I – it's complicated with the whole… you know… I don't want to make things awkward, and it's not like it's going to affect our studies or anything, so –"

Harry cut himself off. Or he wished he'd cut himself off. It would have been less humiliating then to be silenced by Draco leaning towards him and slightly, gently, ever so briefly, pressing his lips against his own. Except that humiliation was barely more than a distant echo in Harry's head, bulldozed by the more immediate concern.

_Bloody hell, Draco Malfoy just kissed me._

Draco leant away from him. He was still smiling. His hand still rested on Harry's shoulder. And Harry couldn't move.

He'd never been so confused in his whole life.


	8. Chapter 8

"I think you might be getting confused."

"I most certainly am not."

"It's a lion. Not a horse. I should know; I've looked through enough magic books over the past few months to know that's the right combination of animals in a griffin."

Draco sighed as he shook his head, almost but not quite long-sufferingly. He'd done that quite a lot of late, and with increased frequency in their past few meetings when Harry's blatant denials had faded into dawning realisation and dumbfounded awe, which in turn faded to skepticism and avid questioning.

And that was before he actually saw Draco perform magic. Real, actual magic.

Hands tucked casually in his pockets, Draco tipped his head back to peer up at the sky overhead. It had darkened with evening, the glow of lampposts and their frosted breaths the only relief, but Harry didn't mind. With the weight of a satisfying dinner in his belly and Draco at his side, he didn't think he would mind if it were snowing a blizzard.

"Hippogriffs exist," Draco said. "They're real, and yes, though griffins were traditionally the more common eagle-cross, someone took it upon themselves to broaden the hybrid speciation variety. Horses were the only one that stuck."

Harry slowed to a stop, his own gloved hands slipping from his pockets. He stared at the back of Draco's retreating back until Draco realised he'd left him behind. When he turned, it was with an expectant and expected touch of a smirk to his lips. "What?"

"That's not how hybridisation works," Harry said, raising his eyebrows. "You can't cross a bird with a horse. Or a lion, for that matter."

"Yes, you can," Draco said. His smile widened fractionally.

"Actually, you can't. I don't know the science behind it but I'm pretty sure there's something in the genes that stops it. The chromosome numbers or something. I did actually learn something in fifth form science, you know. Besides, you're forgetting the mechanics of it, because I'm pretty sure when you compare a horse and a bloody bird –"

"But Harry, you're forgetting" Draco interrupted him.

Harry arched an eyebrow further. "Forgetting?"

"Magic."

He said it so simply. So simply and easily, as though it was the answer to everything, alleviating any possible need for explanation. And, as Harry had seen in recent days – every day since school had let out, for that matter – it practically did.

He'd seen Draco appear out of thin air in the street exactly seven houses down from Harry's own. He'd seen him wave his wand – the wooden rod he'd pulled from his pocket on their final day of school – and cause pebbles to rise from the ground. Draco had conjured fire from thin air, condensed water, and called forth a miniature hurricane. He'd transformed a button into a pearl, a coin into a ring, a flower into a glass image of itself, and a playground full of frozen leaf litter into a warm, soft, and blessedly dry bed of feathers.

It was incredible. Impossible - but Harrys saw him do it. He saw, and he felt the heat of the fire, the smooth slickness of the glass flower, the softness of the feathers. He heard the pop that signalled Draco's arrival when he hastened to the side street near his house every morning, barely slowing in leaping from bed in the morning farewell Lily and James before tearing out the door.

"Where are you going every day?" Lily had asked.

"Jackie called yesterday," James had said. "I forgot to tell you and you weren't here to take her message. You weren't out with her?"

"Are you still studying, Harry?"

"Have you walked PJ?"

"Remus said he saw you walk past the library the other day with someone. Who was that?"

Harry danced and dodged around the questions as much as he was able to, brushing them off as 'spending time with a study mate' and that he had 'lots of homework to catch up on', that he needed to do 'right now, all the time'. He knew Lily didn't buy it, knew James suspected he was up to mischief as he'd always not-so-secretly hoped Harry was inclined towards.

But Harry hadn't followed in his father's mischievous schoolboy ways – although, when he considered it, maybe what he was doing was worse. What would his parents say if he tried to explain to them that every day he was meeting a wizard - a real, actual wizard - to learn about the Wizarding world?

Harry didn't want to think about it. He couldn't, because to do so would fully and completely accept what he was just growing to realise was the reality of the world: that magic was, in fact, real, and that Draco was indeed a wizard. That there was so much that he hadn't known, and each question he posed to Draco only seemed to open the doors to a plethora of other, more complicated questions.

"So you're a wizard? An actual wizard? Your whole family is?"

"Muggles are non-magical people? You mean, you have a whole community of wizards and witches, and everyone else is…? So that's what you were calling me and Jackie before."

"Wait, so Hogwarts is a magic school? The only one in Britain? And it's all the way up in Scotland?"

"Apparating? You mean like -? That's the teleporting thing, right? So all of you seniors do that every Wednesday when you come to Potting Point?"

It seemed impossible, and yet it wasn't. It couldn't be. Harry almost expected to wake up every morning to the realisation that it had all been a crazy, inexplicably long, convoluted dream. But he didn't. Magic was real. Draco made it real. He proved every day he appeared barely a street from Harry's house.

Besides that, Harry had felt the direct effects. Like when Draco had 'healed' the graze he'd unwittingly acquired in his flight from Jacob and his friends. Like the Warming Charm that had driven away the chill of winter crawling into Harry's bones when they'd lost track of time one evening walking through the local park. Or the loose thread he'd fixed on Harry's jumper, or the stain he'd removed from his trainers, or the fogging-repelling charm he'd affixed to Harry's glasses.

Like the two-way mirror he'd gifted Harry as a Christmas present that was apparently a traditional sixteenth birthday gift to every child in his extended family.

"It enables communication by conjuring the image seen through the mirror's counterpart," Draco explained when Harry had unwrapped it. "It will be useful, I think, for communicating, especially given that I don't use one of those Muggle, ah… what are they called? The things you talk into?"

"Telephone," Harry murmured detachedly, staring at the beautiful, ornate piece cupped in his hands. Barely larger than his palm, from the weight of it must have been ridiculously expensive. But more than that, the magic, what it was capable of…

Harry slowly dragged his gaze up to meet Draco's. "You can't give me this. Surely. It was your birthday present."

Draco gave a little shrug that he somehow managed without actually moving his shoulders. "I'll have the other one, so it's not like I'm giving the entire present to you."

"Still, this is just…"

"To be honest, Harry, I've never had anyone distant enough that I wanted to see more often than visitation allowed." He cocked his head, his smile that showed itself more often of late appearing. It twisted Harry's gut and gave him a delightful shiver every time. "Unless you object to that?"

Harry didn't. Not in the least. He'd replied to Draco's teasing query in the most telling way possible: by planting a kiss upon his lips that he was actually allowed to do.

A kiss that was new too. New, and different, and the best kind of exciting, unexpected, and terrifying experience that Harry had ever had. Coupled with the wonder that was magic – real, actual magic that could do more than flashy tricks, that could do the impossible – Harry's life had been turned upside down. Completely upside down and inside out, too. Twisted, coloured in negatives, and filtered through about seven different languages until Harry had no idea what it was even supposed to look like anymore.

It was wonderful. Terrifying and unbelievable, but wonderful.

The prospect of a horse-bird-thing, though? That was a little bit more on the terrifying side. Harry had asked Draco so many questions – about his school, his life, about magic itself – that he almost thought he couldn't be surprised anymore, but daunted? Definitely. Especially when Draco's smile fell into a slight grimace.

"I hate the things," he said. "In my third year, one of them attacked me and nearly clawed my arm off."

"Clawed your arm off?" Harry said with a wince. He suspected Draco was exaggerating slightly given his arm was still very firmly attached, but it sounded gruesome nonetheless.

Draco nodded grimly. "Delightful creatures. My father kicked up a stink – and rightly so, mind, given that our Care of Magical Creatures professor isn't exactly what you'd call the most attentive to workplace health and safety – but nothing much became of it. I'm simply glad I could drop the subject in fifth year."

Harry shook his head, as much in wonder as horror. Care of Magical Creatures, and hippogriffs. And Transfiguration. And Charms, Potions, and Herbology of magical plants. Broomstick flying, and something called quidditch involving the flying of those brooms in a sport which Harry thought sounded brilliant. Letters delivered by owls, conversations through fireplaces, talking portraits and crystal balls, the latter of which Draco had snorted and deemed "about as accurate as reading tea leaves, if you ask me," to which Harry assumed meant not particularly accurate at all.

It was all wonderful. Terrifying. Unbelievable had Harry not witnessed it for himself.

"You're not much of an animal person then, I take it?" Harry asked, slowly drawing alongside Draco and falling into step beside him again as they continued down the road in the direction of his house. The road itself was empty, the houses on either side glowing with merry brightness of promised warmth to combat the December snow. It would have been lonely, and had Harry been alone he likely would have sprinted the rest of the route. But with Draco at his side…

"Not in the least," Draco replied, scrunching his nose in an expression that, months before, Harry would have thought incapable of marring his sculpted features. He knew better now. Far better, because Draco smiled, and scowled, and sometimes, if only briefly, even laughed. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen something more beautiful; Draco wasn't necessarily pretty, and his laugh wasn't spectacular. If anything, the slight snort and deep chuckle was funny in itself, but because it came from Draco, Harry thought it was damn near incredible.

He was quite well and truly whipped. It was a good thing, then, that Draco had, for whatever reason, silently accepted their abrupt promotion into boyfriends. The suddenness, the unexpectedness, and the sheer wonder of that fact still left Harry floored sometimes, and never more so than when Draco reached for his hand and clasped it in his own.

Just as he did then.

Harry nearly jumped just as he had every other time Draco had done so. He made it seem so natural, so comfortable, as though there was absolutely nothing strange about it in the world. As though, should anyone see them, they wouldn't stare, or sneer, or spit at the thought of two boys holding hands. Once, Harry had thought that Draco might have been one to sneer, but the reality was quite the opposite.

"You know," Harry said, slowing his steps, "I never would have taken you to be a hand-holder."

Draco hummed neutrally. "Is that a problem?"

Harry squeezed his fingers, silently relieved that his words hadn't caused Draco to loosen his hold. "No. Not at all. It's just not exactly culturally acceptable, is all."

"For two men to date," Draco said more than asked. "You've said that before."

Harry nodded. He had. Several times in fact, because it still seemed so alien to him that Draco's world, his Wizarding world of magic and wonder, would be accepting of people like himself. That they would deem him no different from anyone else simply because he fancied boys rather than girls. Despite the terror of hippogriffs and a Wizarding War that Draco had mentioned had apparently eased into nothingness not even two decades before, Harry couldn't suppress the growing upwelling of longing. It was almost like that world was made for him.

Which apparently it was, because Harry had magic too. Or so Draco said.

"I think I was probably born into the wrong family," Harry said quietly, pursing his lips and lowering his gaze to the slick pavement. "Don't get me wrong, I love my mum and dad, but if I'm magical, and gay, and your world completely accepts both of those things, it seems kind of… unfair to not be a part of it."

Draco nodded slowly. "I never considered it that way, but I suppose you're right. Purebloods – families like mine that have unbroken chains of magical ancestry – have always looked down on Muggleborns, but…"

"Looked down on them?" Harry asked. A wall of defensiveness immediately erected itself within him, not unlike that he felt when he heard whispers of homophobia turned directly upon him. "For something Muggleborns didn't choose and had no control over?"

"Yes," Draco said. He was frowning as though the idea of such a thing being wrong had only just occurred to him. "It's a very old-fashioned way of thinking, and one that modern activists stoutly oppose, but… yes."

"Do you?" Harry asked, keeping his tone as casual as he could manage.

Draco's hand tightened on Harry's. There was a ring of apology in his voice when he spoke. "I think I used to. But even had I not already changed my mind both myself and as a product of Hogwarts' rather… progressive approach, it certainly would have changed recently. I have you to thank for that."

Harry's disgruntlement faded a little. He swallowed his smile but couldn't quite manage to withhold glancing at Draco sidelong. Draco was staring at him openly and tipped his head in acknowledgement as he caught his eye.

"Is that so?" Harry asked, releasing any hold he had on a grin.

Draco nodded again. "Certainly. You're full of surprises, Harry. It's nothing short of fascinating."

"Can't believe you can just say shit like that," Harry muttered, turning away as he felt heat flood his cheeks. "It's so sappy."

"Sappy?"

"Yeah. Aren't aristocrats supposed to be, I don't know, reserved about that sort of thing?" Harry swung their hands idly, a distraction that didn't quite work. "All hard love and never admitting their feelings or something?"

Draco gave his snorting laugh. "I still don't know where you get that impression."

"What, of hard love?"

"No. Of aristocracy."

Harry snorted himself and couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You say that, but you also claim to be a pureblood. Surely that's the same thing."

"Not really," Draco said slowly.

"'Not really' my arse," Harry said shaking his head, but he let it slide.

Truth be told, Harry didn't know why Draco had decided to be his boyfriend. He hadn't seemed the type, and Harry thought he'd become rather adept at discerning those sort of 'types' over the past few years. It wasn't hard to tell when a boy looked at him whether they were just looking or really _looking_. Unfortunately for Harry, the latter happened rarely enough that it was all but unseen.

Draco hadn't seemed like that at all. Harry hadn't gotten even the vaguest sense that he was interested – or at least not in that way. Draco was certainly fascinated by his magic just as he'd claimed, a fact that still warmed Harry in his belly in a flush of delight. But liking him beyond that?

Maybe it was different in the Wizarding world, where boys liking boys was apparently acceptable. Maybe the signs were different, or because that acceptance they didn't need to be so overt in expressing their interest. Maybe Draco had been interested and Harry just hadn't realised.

But no. Truth be told, Harry was still stunned that Draco was curious enough about him to date him. Because, as it turned out, that was what they were doing. Harry had asked, just to be sure, because leaving the situation unspecified was torturous.

"I was under that impression," Draco had replied barely days before. "Unless you're particularly prone to kissing people you don't fancy. Are you?"

Harry had all but blubbered to deny him. "No, no, it's just –"

"Then date me." Draco had smirked with confidence that was more than a touch arrogant, and Harry had abruptly decided that, prat or not, he might just adore that smirk. "That's what two people do when they're interested in one another, do they not?"

That had been barely a week before and was the best bloody Christmas present Harry had ever received. Even better was when Draco had teleported – no, _Apparated_ to Potting Point that afternoon, and Harry, under the guise of heading to Jackie's, had slipped out to see him for an hour.

Harry was dating someone. He was dating a boy. He was dating a hot boy, who was smart, and strangely funny, and yes, an arrogant prat, but also a whole lot more of a decent person than he'd first appeared. And he was tall. And blond. And had a killer smile that was somehow only made better by his smirk and slightly crooked front tooth. And fuck, but his eyes were incredible, and even better when they were meeting Harry's.

Just as they were when, slowing to a stop two houses away from Harry's, Harry turned towards him. In the glow of the streetlamp, the shadows highlighting the contours of his face, Draco breathtaking. Harry didn't know what it was about himself that interested Draco enough to date him, but he would take it. He'd take it and hold onto it like a lifeline.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" Harry found himself asking, just as he had each preceding day when they parted. He'd stopped feeling quite so embarrassed after the first three times.

Draco smiled, dropping his gaze to Harry's hand and turning it over in his own. "Of course."

"You don't have to if you don't want to. I mean, if you had study or something, or were doing something else –"

"I know. I would tell you if I didn't want to."

Harry nodded. That much he could believe. Unexpectedly, it didn't hurt to think of being told such a thing either. Harry was far from confident in the stability of their relationship, for how could he be when their 'relationship' was barely days old? Yet somehow, that Draco would openly tell him if he was busy or not in the mood eased his concerns. Rarely had Draco ever cancelled on their weekend study sessions, but each time it hadn't seemed for a reluctance to see Harry.

The thought that Draco would be open enough to speak honestly was comforting. Draco, for all of his flaws that Harry found himself increasingly acclimatising to, spoke his mind. He didn't hold back, and it made Harry want to match his openness.

With that thought in mind and a sidelong glance in the direction of his house, Harry met Draco's eyes as they finally rose once more. "I was wondering," he said quietly, casting a glance in the opposite direction along the street, "if tomorrow, or maybe a little later or whatever, if maybe we could…"

Draco allowed him a brief pause before prompting him. "Yes?"

Harry caught his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing for a moment before taking a deep breath. He spoke in a rush, almost whispering. "Do you think you could teach me how to do some magic like you do?"

Silence fell. It stretched, continued to stretch, and Harry shifted awkwardly between his feet. His only placation was that Draco still clasped his hand as comfortably as before.

Lowering his gaze to his toes, Harry pursed his lips. "You don't have to if you don't want to. Or if it's not allowed that you teach me or whatever. Is it forbidden? Because that's fine if you have to have a proper teacher or something, especially since, you know, magic does seem like it can be sort of dangerous. But I was thinking, seeing as somewhere along the way I missed my letter to go to your school – you said you got a letter, right? When you were eleven? I was thinking that I could, even for maybe just a few things, try to –"

Draco cut him off. Dipping slightly, Draco caught Harry's chin in his fingers and drew them together for a hard, warm kiss. It was short, chaste, but it still took Harry's breath away, just as every single one before it had.

When Draco drew away from him, Harry was left blinking in a momentary stupor. "What was that all about?"

Draco's smile widened further than he'd ever seen it. "You want to learn magic."

Harry frowned. "Well, yeah. Magic was kind of my obsession when I was a kid."

"I meant real magic."

Rolling his eyes, Harry shook his head. "Would anyone in the world consider not learning magic if they could? They'd have to be morons. Why wouldn't you want to learn absolutely everything you could about it if you've the opportunity?"

"You'd be surprised," Draco said, smile still widening. "There are some who consider their magical education to be a chore rather than a privilege."

"Nutters," Harry muttered.

Draco chuckled quietly, his breath pluming between them in a white cloud. God, how Harry had grown to love that sound. "Indeed," he said. "And I would be honoured to teach you, though you have quite the natural skill, I believe, especially given your own magic is wandless."

Rolling his eyes again, Harry squeezed Draco's captured fingers. "I've already told you, what I do isn't real magic."

"I disagree," Draco replied immediately.

"Well, you're wrong."

"You Apparated."

"I beg to differ. It's called climbing –"

"Which you admit you can't remember doing."

Harry frowned, pursing his lips. "Don't turn my own words against me."

Draco smirked. "Then don't give me your words to use."

"Tosser."

"What about the powder that you threw at that prat, then?"

"I put it in my pocket that morning, obviously," Harry said with a sigh.

Draco clicked his tongue. "Liar. You said you couldn't remember doing that specifically either."

"Look – okay, so maybe I –"

"That time with your haircut when you were a kid," Draco continued, raising his free hand and a single gloved finger. He raised a second one as he said, "or when you said you 'spoke to your dog'."

"That's a different kind of speaking, Draco," Harry said, knowing his words were useless.

"And yet he understood you more than a dog should," Draco said. He looked far too complacent with his satisfied smile. "I don't know much about dogs, but I'm fairly sure they don't understand the difference between different styles of shoes when told to fetch them."

"It was a fluke," Harry grumbled, but he couldn't quite withhold his own smile.

"That time with the tree-climbing?"

"Draco."

"Or with the disappearing spoons?"

"Draco, you –"

"Or with those birds, or how you said your phone miraculously worked when it was 'broken', or when you forgot your umbrella and –"

"Alright, alright," Harry laughed, raising his free hand to press over Draco's mouth. He could feel Draco's smile through his glove, felt as Draco planted a kiss on the inside of his palm. "You've made your point. And I'll never tell you about my 'accidents' –"

"Magic," Draco said, his voice muffled.

"Never again!"

Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry's hand, drawing it from his mouth. He planted another kiss on his fingers, and Harry's skin tingled even through the glove. "I would be honoured to teach you," Draco murmured. "I don't know how competently I'll be able to given that you don't have a wand but I will do my best. It shouldn't be too great a challenge; I am practically the best in my class, after all."

"And oh-so-humble, too," Harry said.

"Naturally," Draco replied, waving his hand grandiosely. "It's a gift."

Harry was still laughing, shaking his head with a touch of fond despair, when he leant towards Draco. His lips were cool, just a little chapped, and his breath warm. Harry drew it in as he inched closer to him, shortening the distance between them further. Kissing… He'd never done it before. Not really. Not like this. It could have been because it was with Draco, but Harry sorely regretted that he'd been so bereft until that Christmas.

When they finally pulled apart, icy air flooding the narrow space between them, Harry couldn't quite bring himself to step back. Draco didn't move immediately either, his hand clasping Harry's, and Harry thought that his grasp was infinitely warmer than the knitted gloves that covered his fingers.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked.

Draco nodded. He leant forwards briefly once more, bestowing another kiss. "Tomorrow," he agreed.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Can't wait," he said. "What have you got for me tonight, by the way?"

Draco didn't need him to explain what he was talking about. Not when, after the first day, he'd 'left' him something each time they parted. It was almost strange how quickly and easily they slipped into habits that felt like traditions.

Draco leaving with a parting display of magic was one such habit. Releasing Harry's hand, he edged a step backwards, glancing both ways along the length of the empty road as he always did, Draco raised the wand between them.

"Here," he said quietly. "I'll show you. _Mentis imago_."

Harry felt it. He could feel the magic – or at least he thought he could. As Draco waved his wand in an elegant twirl, coils of gossamer gold flowing from its tip, Harry felt his skin prickle and his fingers tingle. He could almost smell it, like the metallic hint of static on the air, and for a moment he revelled in the feeling of what he had only just learnt the nature of. Had he always felt it or was this sixth sense a new phenomenon?

Any such thoughts abandoned him, however, when the golden sparkles coalesced into tangible form in the air before him. Barely bigger than his hand, the translucent creature emitted a faint glow softer than a lightbulb and somehow purer. It wasn't that which drew the smile to Harry's lips, however.

"Smartarse," Harry said, flashing Draco a grin that Draco returned with his usual smirk. Reaching a hand towards the winged creature between them, Harry shook his head slowly. "So that's a hippogriff, huh?"

The seamless hybrid of a bird and horse was as fascinating as it was disturbing. It was very different to behold a representation to simply being told of the existence of such a creature. Widespread wings scattering golden sparkles like dust as they flapped, talons upon its bird-like front legs clawing the ground like a horse would count. Its sweeping tail of delicate hairs, each discernible identifiable as though they'd been individually conjured, shed its own wisps of gold.

It was a breathtaking image even without the knowledge that Draco had conjured it from nothing. A display of magic for Harry, because he knew that it enchanted him.

The gold sparkles danced and clung to Harry's hand as he brushed it over the creature that swirled as insubstantially as smoke. Twisting his hand, he rubbed the fading fragments between his fingers, unable to look away for the simple wonder of it. It was only with Draco's chuckle that he dragged his gaze towards him.

Draco was watching him with a smirk that was more like a smile, his pale face cast aglow by his own magic. He wasn't even looking at his conjured hippogriff but instead watched Harry intently as though he were the fascinating one.

"What?" Harry asked, dusting his fingers self-consciously.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "Nothing."

"Bollocks."

"Nothing bad."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Why are you looking at me like that, then?"

Draco cocked his head. "You become uncomfortable when I stare at you fondly, don't you? Does it really make you so nervous to think that someone would see us?"

"Draco," Harry grumbled. He didn't want to have that conversation. Not now and possibly not ever. Draco was more open-minded than he'd thought him capable of, but that didn't mean he could identify with the admittedly baseless assumptions and discriminations of non-Wizarding society.

Draco held up his hand in placation, however, and just like that the issue was dropped. "I only thought it as funny. That's all."

'What?" Harry asked, allowing himself to be distracted.

"You always used to find it hilarious that I thought your magic tricks were so intriguing. It seems I'm returning the favour."

Harry opened his mouth, paused, and considered. He supposed… yes, Draco was right. Though it made him feel a little like a childish fool, he was indeed fascinated. And yes, it was somewhat amusing, their seeming reversal of roles. Harry found himself smiling. "We're coming full circle."

Draco gave him another kiss at that. It was longer this time, slower, and warmer for it. Harry felt it all the way down to his toes, a different kind of tingle, a different sense stimulated.

When they drew apart his lips felt regrettably chilled in the night air. Harry sighed as he took a reluctant step backwards. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he repeated.

Draco bowed his head, almost like a compliant servant would in deference, and Harry was momentarily torn between awkwardness and flattery. Bloody aristocrats. Regardless of what Draco said, he was still a stuck-up snot sometimes. Harry should smack him over the back of the head like Jackie would and chide him for being a weirdo.

And yet he didn't. He couldn't. Instead, Harry waited in watchful silence as Draco took a slow step away from him. As he drew down the footpath towards the side street he always Apparated from. He waved when Draco glanced over his shoulder towards him and, when he craned his head and stretched to hear, Harry could have sworn he made out the pop of magic as Draco disappeared.

Only then did he turn and, shoving his hands back into his pockets, hasten into the warmth of his house. In a few quick bounds, Harry leapt up the short steps to his front door, swinging it shut behind him and locking the frozen night of chilled kisses and glowing magic behind him. It was a secret. His and Draco's secret, both the magic and the romance. Though Harry might want the whole world to know about what he shared with Draco – that Draco was, even just a little part of him, his – he loved the thought that their quiet moments of intimacy were only theirs to share.

Pausing for a moment on the threshold, Harry brushed his fingers across his lips. He was smiling again, he realised. It happened quite often of late, and quite without Harry's direct consent. He found he didn't mind quite as much as he once had. He didn't even mind that the previous day Jackie had given him a disconcerted sidelong glances when she noticed, or that Jill seemed strangely knowing for someone who shouldn't know anything at all. Regardless of how much he loved them, Harry wasn't sure how to broach the subject of his dating Draco. They would be supportive, he knew, and Abel likely would be as well, but for some reason, the time just hadn't been right. Not yet.

"Harry? Is that you?"

Shaken from his thoughts, Harry glanced down the length of the hallway in the direction of the dining room. Scrubbing his face, Harry gave himself a physical shake and shrugged out of his jacket. "Of course," Harry called back to his mother. "Were you expecting a random stranger to suddenly burst through the door?"

Stepping from his shoes and padding along the hallway, he'd barely made it to the doorway when it was abruptly filled. Harry paused as his father barred his entrance, hands planted on either frame and a touch of a frown not quite hidden by the tangles of his fringe. He wasn't angry since James rarely became angry, but he seemed quietly concerned nonetheless. Worried, even.

This isn't good, Harry thought, fighting the urge to cringe and slink past him and up the stairs. Instead, he pasted a smile on his face and affected innocence. "What's up?"

James' finger tapped briefly on the frame as his frown deepened further. The silence between them grew longer and longer, and Harry couldn't help but shift shrink a little before it. When James finally opened his mouth to reply, it was a moment too late.

"Oh, for goodness sake, James, let him through," Lily said from behind him. A moment later and she appeared at his shoulder, her smile calm and easy in a way that James could never manage. Harry's father had always worn his heart on his sleeve. "Can we talk to you for a minute, sweetheart?"

"Crap," Harry blurted out before he could help himself. "That doesn't sound good."

A bark of laughter rung from behind his parents. "Yep, he's definitely yours, James," Sirius' said between chuckles. "Can smell a discovery from a mile away."

"By that definition, he could also be yours," Remus said in reply from somewhere hidden.

Sirius gave an exaggerated gasp that had James glancing over his shoulder. "Remus!" Sirius said, mockingly hushed. "How could you rout me and Lily out like that? We trusted you!"

James snorted, his frown disappearing as he rolled his eyes. Lily didn't even spare Sirius a glance as she shook her head. "Remus, don't put crazy ideas into his head."

"Yeah," James said. "You might find yourself a boyfriend short if you start making suggestions. I wouldn't put it past him for Lily."

"James, you knew?" Sirius said with another gasp.

"I'm not a fan of the juvenile connotations accompanying the term 'boyfriend'," Remus said, barely a murmur.

"James, I swear, if you start this again," Lily warned.

Harry couldn't help but smile, if a little feebly. His family truly were the best of people. Regardless of what he might tell Draco, he wouldn't want it any other way, whether they had magic or not. And whether they were eerily perceptive too, as Lily's returning attention and pointedly raised eyebrows suggested.

"Harry?" she asked, gesturing into the room.

It would be a scolding. Or a questioning. Or something of the sort, though Harry didn't know which. Rarely did he get truly reprimanded, and James and Lily weren't the kind to ground him like Jackie's parents did. Rather, they had always deemed him worthy of being responsible for his actions. Which, unfortunately, meant that he would have a bit of explaining to do should a situation arise.

Harry suspected he might know just what was coming.

The tail end of dinner was still spread across the table, crumbs dotting the tablecloth and dregs of red wine swirling in the base of haphazardly spaced glasses. Sirius was at one side, twisted in his seat with PJ's head predictably in his lap. Remus sat at Sirius' side, as quietly composed as ever with his elbows propped on the edge of the table and head tilted slightly as if in consideration. His small smile widened slightly as Harry glanced towards him, a knowing twinkle that reminded Harry of Jill briefly brightening his amber eyes, before James was shuffling behind Harry and shunting him towards one of the spare chairs.

"We're just about to have some supper," Lily said, taking her own seat as James skirted the table to plant himself behind her. "Would you like something?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and chewing nervously.

"That so?" Sirius asked. "Been out to dinner, have you?"

"Sirius," Remus said quietly.

"Padfoot, don't be an arse," James said, sounding every inch his mental age.

 _Yeah, I know what this is about_ , Harry thought with a mental sigh. He'd hoped to avoid any questioning for a little longer – until he could return to school, perhaps – but wasn't surprised that reality was less inclined to leniency than he would have preferred. Still, it was a struggle to withhold from sinking into his seat as all eyes turned towards him. In some ways, it might have been easier to just be scolded.

Harry met the eyes of each of his family in turn: Sirius, peering at him sidelong as he pretended to be distracted with PJ. Remus, with his open acceptance of whatever was to come. James, his slight frown resurfacing and fingers curled around the back of Lily's chair, and Lily, leaning forwards in her seat with her chin in her hand, her fingers curled along the scar marring her face. She ran feather-light fingers across the shiny ridges as she always did when pondering, and Harry knew even before she spoke that she would be the one to initiate the conversation.

"You went out to dinner tonight again, then?" she said casually.

Harry fought the hunching of his shoulders. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all. "Yeah."

"With Jackie and Jill?" James asked.

"Unlikely," Sirius muttered.

"Sirius," Lily and Remus said in synchrony this time before all three turned back towards Harry.

Harry slumped into his seat. He scrubbed his thumb across his forehead. He ran his hand through his hair. He scratched awkwardly at the back of his head and chewed his lip until it hurt. The silence seemed to hum above the table, broken only by the gentle swishing of PJ's tail.

Finally, with a sigh, Harry turned towards his mother. "Can we just get this over with? We all know it's coming."

"Too right we do," James said.

"James," Lily began.

"You been out gallivanting around, kiddo?" Sirius interrupted her. "Got yourself a bit of a night life?"

"It's hardly even night," Harry muttered, deliberately glancing at his wristwatch.

"That's not exactly the point we're trying to make, Harry," Remus said. "I believe Sirius is simply highlighting the fact that you've been out every night this week, including on Christmas, which is…"

"Odd," Sirius said promptly.

"Concerning," James said a moment later.

"More concerning in that we're not sure where you're headed every night," Lily said. Her face was tight even if she managed to keep her tone carefully neutral, and Harry winced at the distress he'd unwittingly caused her. She'd always been one to worry, albeit silently. "We trust you, Harry, and we know you're sensible enough to do the right thing and take care of yourself –"

"Which, personally, I question, given that every seventeen-year-old in the world in probably fucking or getting sloshed when they go out to party."

"Padfoot," James snapped. "Swear jar!"

"That's the part you're focusing on?" Sirius scoffed.

"And triple the cost for insinuating that my son's tarting around."

"I didn't insinuate tarting. You're putting words in my mouth. Besides, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of fun if you're doing it safely."

James took a slightly threatening step around the table towards Sirius. "You said fucking."

"Yes," Sirius said, ruffling PJ's ears. "Not tarting."

"Can we please stop saying tarting," Harry said with a sigh.

"And fucking," Lily added, frowning.

"I sincerely doubt that Harry is pursuing either such endeavours," Remus said mildly, speaking through the rapid exchange that James and Sirius were continuing to volley to the exclusion of the rest of them. He met Harry's gaze with a silent query. "Unless you have a roaring social life filled with glamour and frivolousness that we don't know about, Harry."

"You've found me out," Harry said, glancing at his father sidelong as he continued his argument with Sirius, a jabbing pointed finger with each word of, "and another twenty pounds in the jar for –!"

"Personally," Remus spoke through his words, "I'm more concerned that you're spending so much time out when you should be studying for your final year. You're not underestimating how much time is needed for study, are you, Harry?"

"Of course, you would think that, Remus," Lily said, a smile softening her concern slightly.

"Well, one of us has to."

"Yes, and I thank every day that I have you to be that one." Turning towards Harry and entirely ignoring where James had descended into a tussle with Sirius reminiscent of the schoolboys that Harry had never been, Lily slipped back into solemnity. "It's not so much your schooling that concerns me, Harry. I have faith that you'll keep up to speed."

"Thanks," Harry said dryly.

"What concerns me," Lily continued as if he hadn't spoken, "is that Remus says you've been spending time with a boy that he didn't recognise at the library. Or at least didn't recognise from afar. Is that right, Harry?"

With the suddenness of a snapped rubber band, James and Sirius ceased their scuffle. James, with Sirius pinned a headlock, turned his gaze towards Harry. Harry almost couldn't look at him. Why it felt like a betrayal he didn't know, but it did. Instead, he spared a faintly accusing glance for Remus before turning back to Lily. "I told you I was with a study mate."

"Sure," Sirius said. "Study mate." It came out as more of a grunt as James gave him another squeeze.

Harry felt his cheeks warm. He loved his parents. He loved Sirius and Remus, too, more than anyone else in the world. But this conversation? Harry had heard Jackie talk about the degree of awkwardness she had been forced through when attempting to explain her sexuality to her parents, but this felt different. Harry wasn't concerned that his parents would have a problem with him dating a boy, especially not with Remus and Sirius as an example themselves, but…

Lily worried. She worried a lot. She was holding herself together, but Harry could see from the tightness around her eyes and the repetitive strokes of her scarred cheek that she was keeping her worries on a tight leash.

James worried too, but more than that, he had the potential to be overprotective. And demanding. And he had a strange tendency to 'assert his dominance as the alpha male' as Sirius jokingly called it at times. Harry hadn't quite considered the accuracy of that description until then.

Sirius would want to know everything, because he was especially nosy when it came to potential romantic interest, and Remus… well, Remus likely truly was simply worried about his studies, but just as likely he was a touch concerned about this 'boy' too. For all that Harry might blame him for dobbing him in, he didn't question that it came from a place of care.

Nonetheless, it still left him squirming in his seat. Shifting, Harry clasped his hands in his lap, then unclasped them and grasped his knees instead. "Um."

"Rousing start there, Harry," Sirius said, grinning wolfishly.

"Sirius, be quiet for a moment," Remus said, not glancing away from Harry. "Harry? Is there anything you'd like to tell us?"

His cheeks felt like they were on fire. He could still feel Draco's kiss upon his lips. It was wonderful, felt right, but it also somehow left him feeling like he was standing buck naked before his parents. There were some things that shouldn't be seen when a kid reached a certain age. It felt deeply personal in a way Harry hadn't experienced before.

He'd heard whispers from classmates about avoiding parental notice but hadn't really heeded it. His parents were cool. They were fine. It didn't matter what they knew, and they'd taken his coming-out better than Harry had hoped, let alone expected. But this?

This was…

It was like…

"I've… maybe started seeing someone?"

He said it like a question, but the explosive response made it a direct confirmation. Sirius burst from James' hold, though it was just as likely that James released him as he straightened, eyes nearly as wide and round as his glasses. Sirius lurched to his feet, eyes just as wide. PJ sprang about a foot in the air as both Sirius and James both all but flung themselves around the table towards Harry.

"Wait, what?" Sirius stuttered as though he hadn't just been assuming as much. "Seriously? You actually are?"

"Who is it?" James said, and didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Do I know him? What's his name? Who're his parents? Is he a little shit or actually a decent kid?"

"James, really," Lily said, but the faintness of her voice bellied her own supposed composure. Harry's glance in her direction found her straightened in her chair, hands flopped to the table, and staring at Harry in a mixture of surprise, wonder, and concern. "I'm sure he's a lovely boy if Harry has decided to date him."

"Why haven't you told us about this?" Sirius said, grinning ear to ear as he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and gave him a firm jostle. "Bloody hell, Harry, I should be the first to know!"

"You kind of are," Harry mumbled, shrinking beneath Sirius' arm. He couldn't pinpoint what part of the confrontation was the worst bit – the staring, the gaping, the demands – but decided he wished he'd somehow delayed what was, ultimately, an inevitable reveal. "I haven't even told Jackie or Jill yet."

'You haven't told them?" Lily asked. "Why not?"

"Do they know this kid?" James asked, planting himself next to him. He seemed taller than usual, but that was likely due to his looming as he stared down at him Harry. "Will they tell me who he is? Will Jill give me an accurate description?"

"You'd do better with Jackie," Sirius said, releasing Harry only long enough to give James playful punch. "She'll give you all the trash talk on him."

"I highly doubt there's trash talk," Lily said. She finally drew her gaze from Harry, though she still seemed a little stunned. "James, control yourself."

"Control myself?" James spluttered, colour rising in his cheeks. "My only kid has his first real boyfriend. This is a big deal."

"A very big deal," Sirius agreed.

"It's not a big deal," Lily sighed.

"It is! I need to know this kid."

"He needs to know him."

"I need to know his name, where he lives, what his parents think of him, whether he plays football –"

"The all-important questions," Sirius snickered.

"I'm sure we'll get to that eventually," Lily said. "Maybe when Harry's comfortable enough to bring this boy around for a visit."

 _Oh, bloody hell._ Harry only just managed to withhold a groan. Already? They were already suggesting it? He buried his still-flushed face in his hands even as James' exclamations, Lily's tentative reasoning, and Sirius' false support replayed in his head. When he spread his fingers to peer through, it was to see Remus regarding him with a curious expression on his face. Knowing, but not the kind of knowing that Harry would have anticipated. He looked almost suspicious.

The edge of suspicion faded almost instantly as he met Harry's gaze, however. To the chorus of voices playing around them, he leant slightly across the table and extended his hand. Harry reached for it and grasped it almost desperately, even as James' hand thumping into the back of his chair with an overloud "I'm his father, it's my job!"

"You alright, Bambi?" Remus asked.

Harry pulled a face as Lily finally rose to her feet and rebuffed James' increasingly loud exclamations. "It could have gone worse."

Remus chuckled, squeezing his fingers. "Yes, it certainly could have."

Watching as his family continued to rage around him like a whirling hurricane, Harry shook his head. It certainly could have gone worse. Much worse. He could have had a Jackie situation as she'd experienced with her parents, or worse still. It could have been far, far worse.

It still didn't make the prospect of eventually introducing Draco to his parents any better, though. Which would happen, surely. After all, Harry supposed Draco was in for the long haul – wasn't he?


	9. Chapter 9

_"Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure!"_

"Stop!" Harry exclaimed, even as Jackie took a sucking inhalation and proceeded with, _"Don't wanna close my eyes!"_ His shoulders shook with laughter as she sang along to Aerosmith's powerful climax, gesticulating wildly and nearly whacking him over the head as she did so.

"Do you mind?" he said, swatting her sweeping arms away. "If we have a crash, the blame is all on you."

Jackie paused in her tone-deaf chorus to shoot him a grin. Her lips were stained multi-coloured from jellybeans, sharply offsetting her hair and vibrant clothes. "It's a classic, Harry," she bellowed, only a little louder than she needed to be heard over the ear-splitting radio. "Singing along is essential."

"I think a classic would suggest it's been around for at least a couple of years," Jill called from the back seat.

"What?" Jackie shouted back.

"I said, I think –"

"I'm sorry, Jill," Jackie overrode her. "I can't hear your objections over the sound of how right I am." With another grin flashed over her shoulder, Jackie propped her feet up on the dashboard where they'd been for the majority of their trip and threw back another handful of jellybeans. A moment later, to the accompaniment of sticky chewing, she continued with another round of, " _Don't wanna close my eyes!"_

Shaking his head, Harry met Jill's eyes in the rear-view mirror. Leaning through the gap between the two front seats, she smiled indulgently back at him. Harry had to hand it to her; Jill was practically a saint if she could manage 'indulgent' after six hours on the road with Jackie.

"If I wind down these windows, the entirety of London is going to hear how shit you are at singing," Harry all but shouted to Jackie.

"Let them hear and stand in awe!" Jackie replied.

"Right. Awe."

"You're just jealous."

"I'm definitely not."

" _Jealous_."

"Of your acoustics? Can you hear yourself?"

"It's called raw talent." Twisting in her seat once more, Jackie threw a glance towards Jill. "Jill, you're the musician amongst us. Tell Harry I'm a diamond in the rough."

"Oh, definitely," Jill said, still managing to maintain her smile.

Harry snorted under his breath. "Got the 'rough' part right." He kept his voice low enough that Jackie could pretend she didn't hear him, however, and turned his attention back to the road ahead of him. Not that it was really needed. Inner city traffic on a Saturday was far from thinned of the masses.

London swam around them in a sea of honking cars, shouted imprecations, and hastening pedestrians. Despite entering the depths of the city only half an hour ago, it was already overwhelming. The smells that pervaded the car, even with the windows wound up. The constant buzz of noise, of throbbing, pounding vibrations that could have been from some nearby construction site or simply from the city's thrumming heartbeat. The double-decker buses, the string of taxis and colourful cars, the pavement strewn with city-goers that wound between one another with such fluidity that they almost appeared to be choreographed.

Harry rarely visited the city, but when he did it always struck him like a dash of cold water in the face. London was different to Potting Point. Very different. It moved at about double the pace and people were _everywhere._

Sweeping across a wide, yawning bridge that Jackie claimed 'rocked when that bloody bus crossed, I kid you not', Harry pulled up at what must have been the hundredth traffic light since they'd entered the city proper. He glanced over his shoulder to Jill. "How far have we got?"

The crinkle of the map in Jill's hands as she repositioned it was almost overridden by that of Jackie riffling through her bag of jellybeans as she simultaneously made a show of twisting in her seat. Hanging awkwardly in the hammock of her seat belt, she peered down at the map as Jill studied it intently.

"Waz it's name 'gain?" Jackie asked through a mouthful.

"You're disgusting," Harry said. Jackie threw a sweet at him.

"Phillip Street," Jill said, ignoring the exchange. She leant into the map, squinting, before straightening and leaning instead towards the window to peer beyond. "It should be about… third on the right, Harry."

"Should be?" Jackie said with a smirk, chewing loudly. "You gonn' get us lost 'gain?"

"Seriously?" Harry side-eyed her as they inched forward once more. "Stop it. You're turning me off jellybeans for life."

"Not possible. Everyone loves jellybeans."

"When did you become such an animal?"

"I've always been one, Harry. You've only just noticed now because you're finally learning manners for yourself."

"Really? In that case, maybe you should –"

"It's this one," Jill interrupted them, leaning between their seats once more with a finger spearing ahead. "Look, it has the sign to the museum right beneath it."

"Oh, well spotted," Harry said, hanging a left in the direction Jill pointed him. "I hardly even saw the sign."

"Yes, but you're half blind, Harry," Jackie said fondly.

"Not with glasses on."

"I challenge you on that."

"And yet you let me drive the whole way here."

Jackie snickered, slumping back into her seat with her feet returning to the dashboard. Harry ignored her. As his discomfort for shift of city life settled, he felt the excitement that had been building within him since they'd decided upon the visit at the end of the previous term. The excitement for what they would see, what they would discover, and what it could mean.

Magic. It held a different kind of fascination for him now that Harry knew it was real. The more he learnt of it with each of Draco's teachings, the more he found himself wondering just how many 'Muggle' magicians were truly witches and wizards. He didn't care what Draco said of the Wizarding Secrecy Act; there had to be some who didn't play by the rules.

Jackie thought the exhibition itself would be boring and all but begged them to avoid the tour they'd already signed up for. She'd attempted as much on numerous counts both throughout their trip and prior, to which Harry had stalwartly objected to.

"It _is_ still for school, you know," he'd said, frowning as they'd climbed into the car that morning. "If you've got such a problem with it you don't have to come,"

"And miss a trip to London?" Jackie had flung herself into the passenger seat with an enthusiasm that bellied her complaints. "I said the _tour_ would be boring. The show with the magician guy will be awesome. Even better if you challenge him to a trick-off."

"Is a trick-off a real thing?" Jill had asked as she slid onto the back seat.

"Yes," Jackie had said at the same moment Harry replied, "Not that I'm aware of."

"Live a little, Harry," Jackie had continued. "I dare you to take up the challenge. Go on, do it. You might find a wizard master you can apprentice to or something."

At any other time, Harry might have taken her up on the suggestion. He and Jackie had always baited one another when it came to open acts of rebellion, both in school and out. But her words niggled at the back of his mind.

A wizard master. Maybe not a magician but a wizard. What if he was? What if the showman Tyrell Trickson – a name that was so obviously false that Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes when he'd first heard it – could cast actual magic? Would he use a wand, or was he like Harry? Would he use both magic and sleight of hand, just like Draco was convinced that Harry did?

More importantly, would he realise that Harry could cast actual magic in a way that Draco apparently had before Harry had even realised it?

The thought was chilling. A week before and it might not have been, but since Draco had begun attempting to teach him little tricks – from "it's called a _Lumos_ charm" to "I suppose if you use your hand with a "swish and flick' motion it might more accurately resemble the actual enchantment" – the take home message that he'd reminded Harry of every evening rang all the more strongly.

"Muggles can't know about magic, Harry," Draco said, leaning towards him in a way that was different to the intimacy they'd shared earlier that afternoon. "That's how disasters happen."

Harry frowned. He felt his hackles rise slightly and had to deliberately smooth them down. "Why?" he asked. "Because Muggles aren't worthy of knowing?"

Draco's frown in return, the way he tipped his chin slightly as if in defiance, swept Harry with a wash of guilt. "Sorry," he said at the same moment Draco spoke.

"I thought we'd agreed that I'm making headway in not thinking like a discriminative pureblood?"

Harry cringed. "You are. I mean, yeah, you – that's not what I meant."

After a moment, Draco sighed and his rigid posture eased once more. "No, I suppose it's warranted. I may have been slowly changing my opinion over the past few years, and sometimes forced to by the efforts of my professors, but it hadn't really changed quite so significantly until I met you."

It was impossible not to smile at that. Warmth welled in Harry's chest and he found himself reaching for Draco's hand, threading their fingers as he pressed a kiss upon his cheek. In public places, he still felt a little wary in doing so, but between the emptiness of the street and the twitch of Draco's smile it was worth it.

"Sorry," Harry said. "I didn't mean it like that. I just assumed, and it was wrong of me."

Draco nodded as though he truly understood. "A valid assumption. What I was referring to, however, is the abuse that is often involved in Muggle-Wizard interactions. Magic is…"

He trailed off, fingers tweaking Harry's absently. Harry dropped his gaze too. "Have Muggles tried to use witches and wizards for their magic in the past or something?" he asked quietly.

The snort that Draco uttered wasn't entirely derisive. He shook his head, a solemn cast shadowing his face. "More the other way around. No good has come from non-magical people becoming too involved. More often than not it happens as a result of a Dark witch or wizard uprising, so…"

"Bad connotations?" Harry suggested tentatively.

"You could say that. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still fresh enough in many peoples' minds today and drives many Muggle-Wizarding relations. I believe it's responsible for a good portion of the Secrecy Act Amendments, for that matter."

Harry hummed, peering up at Draco's face. He still couldn't quite believe that people like the supposedly 'darkest wizard of their time' who had been killed fifteen-odd years ago still invoked such fear that few in the Wizarding world uttered his name. But if it could… if that fear drove their secrecy…

Dropping his chin onto Draco's shoulder, because he knew that Draco not so secretly liked the contact, he scooted into his side slightly. "Guess it's a good thing I'm not Muggle, then," he said.

Draco leant back into him, pressing a kiss upon his forehead as he did so. Harry didn't think he would ever grow used to such touches; his skin seemed to tingle with delight at the brush of Draco's lips.

"So no magic around Muggles?" Harry said after a moment.

"No magic around Muggles," Draco agreed. "Which was why I was so startled when I saw you using magic for the first time."

Harry laughed, and Draco joined him a moment later. The conversation had stuck with him, however; that he couldn't use magic in everyday life. That he would possibly never be able to, even if he reached a point where he could consistently conjure a light or float a pebble. Worse, to think that he could never tell his parents – it was saddening. A little heartbreaking. He'd vowed not to hide the most important parts of himself when he'd come out, and though it had been a struggle in the first few days he'd been dating Draco, he didn't regret openly showing his affection for his boyfriend. Not even slightly. Hiding his magic, regardless of how little he actually had, felt like he was taking a giant step backwards.

Even so, at Jackie's suggestion, Harry immediately made a face and shook his head. "Are you kidding?" he said. "And risk upstaging Trickson? Besides, he's the one getting paid for it, not me."

Jackie exclaimed her agreement instantly and, predictably, launched into a tirade about potential financial endeavours they could pursue. Harry listened to her with half an ear, paying more attention to Jill as she muttered, "That's the side street down there," into his ear, and proceeded to dive into the gruelling task of searching for parking.

Jackie had exhausted every jellybean in her inventory by the time they clambered from the car. "Finally, freedom!" she shouted, though her voice was almost lost beneath the sound of the city.

Harry groaned as he straightened, twisting to crack his back and slamming his door closed behind him. "You're telling me. I was the one who drove the entire way."

"Only because you wouldn't let me," Jackie retorted. She was already making her way down the pavement, and Harry and Jill hasten their steps to catch up. "I would have done it."

"Not if I wanted us to actually survive," Harry said, slipping from dodging sluggish traffic to ducking between the school of swimming pedestrians. He paused in the gutter as a cluster of school kids at least three years younger than him passed in a chorus of chatter and laughter. "It's still too soon after you almost killed me the first time I let you drive me to school."

Jackie blew a raspberry over her shoulder. "Chickenshit."

"It's called self-preservation."

"I can drive for a bit on the way back tomorrow if you'd like, Harry," Jill offered when he finally dodged around a dawdling couple to fall into place at their side. "I haven't had much practice, but even so, if it's that much of a trial –"

"I think 'trial' is an exaggeration," Harry said. "Thanks anyway, though."

"Come on, you pair!" Jackie called, waving them after where she strode ahead. With her loud outfit of long, striped socks, her patchwork jacket, and hair dyed a startling silver, she stood out like a beacon. "I have a potential girlfriend to woo with my dastardly charms."

"Dastardly charms?" Jill asked with a tilt of her head.

"They share story books on torture methods," Harry explained as Jackie spun on her heel and returned to bulldozing through the oncoming crowd. "It's creepy."

"Don't pretend you have anything but intentions to do the same," Jackie flung over her shoulder.

Harry and Jill shared a grin before hastening after her. A touch of guilt niggled in Harry's gut that he hadn't told Jackie or Jill of his and Draco's relationship, that he ouldn't quite decide how to even go about doing so, but he let it lie as the shrouding ambiance of the city all but smothered him. The museum was a ten minute walk from their parking spot and the riot of smells, sounds, flashing lights, and general chaos seemed to grow only thicker with each step. It wasn't bad, necessarily. Overwhelming, but not bad. Even so, when nearly forced into the gutter and the line of oncoming traffic by a rouge pram, Jill offered him an arm and a commiserating glance. She hadn't much experience with London streets either, and had about as little favour for them.

Jackie, on the other hand, was striding ahead with her head held high, elbows protruded from where her hands were shoved in her pockets, and seeming to mark her passage with every step she took. Jackie was a loud person and seemed to thrive in similar loudness.

The museum drew into view a whole block before they reached it. A low-lying building, if rather wider than those alongside it, it carried an old-fashioned stateliness that seemed to sniff in the face of the New Age buildings that were haphazardly space throughout the rest of London. Arm hooked into Jill's, Harry rose onto his toes as they approached.

"Jackie," he called to where she still ploughed half a dozen steps ahead. "Can you see them at all?"

Jackie paused in step, glanced over her shoulder, but Harry looked past her. Excitement grew in his belly and for once not just at the prospect of seeing Draco. It was the thought of spending whole a day in his company, in the company of witches and wizards and in the middle of London, that truly thrilled him.

For all that they might have to keep their magic a secret, now that Harry knew the reason for their disconcertion, it became something amusing. Thrilling. The frowns upon hearing everyday comments, and the wariness of anything even vaguely technological, made sense. That was to say nothing of showing them all the wonders of the non-magical world magic that Harry had been a part of since he could barely talk.

But Draco too. A lot of his excitement still hinged upon Draco. That would surely be the best part.

As the museum building drew closer, the crowds thinning just slightly, Jackie loosed a triumphant "Ahah!" To the flapping beckon of her hand, Harry and Jill exchanged another glance before picking up their pace and chasing after her.

"She's whipped, isn't she?" Jill said as they ran.

Harry laughed. "It's pretty obvious, right?"

Jill's lips pursed in a way that Harry knew meant she was swallowing a smile. "It usually is when someone is openly ogling someone else at every given opportunity."

The sidelong glance she shot Harry said the words she didn't speak, and Harry found himself wincing in combined embarrassment and amusement. He supposed he was obvious too, especially given that he could feel himself flaring as brightly as a red traffic light. Maybe admitting the truth Jill wouldn't be much of a revelation.

Such thoughts abandoned Harry, however, as they finally caught up to Jackie. She'd stopped in the sea of flowing crowd, planted like a pillar, and as Harry drew alongside her, he immediately realised why. Recalling when he himself had first seen Draco in something other than a uniform, Harry could understand it. Catching sight of the Hogwarts students a handful of steps away, he was struck once more.

Draco stood in casual wait, looking like a bloody Levi model in his jeans and thick jacket. Harry swallowed. It still rocked him that Draco - _Draco Malfoy_ , with his perfect hair, his arrogant smirk, his superiority complex that wasn't quite as insufferable nor nearly as bad as it had once been - would take any interest in him. It left him stunned at times. Disbelieving.

Just like, as was starkly apparent, Jackie was apparently stunned by the sight of Pansy.

Pansy still had a pug nose. She still held that nose too high in the air, and the way she regarded the crowd around them was at once ridiculous and wonderfully hilarious now that Harry knew where her aloofness came from. Draco might be changing his tune, but Pansy still had a long way to go in becoming comfortable around non-magical people.

In her rich coat, however, her knee-high stockings and the ridiculously high heels she wore, her wariness could certainly be construed as arrogance. Her 'Muggle clothes', as Draco called them, only seemed to enhance the impression. She certainly managed to catch Jackie's eyes, though.

"Fuck," Harry heard Jackie mutter at his side, and he couldn't help but elbow her to jostle her from her stupor. He didn't wait for her to regain her senses, however, before tugging Jill forwards alongside him and raising a hand in greeting.

"Draco!" he called and, as one, Draco and his two companions turned towards him.

Crossing the distance between them, Harry spared a glance for the third member of the Hogwarts party. A tall boy, dark, and somehow seeming to swagger even without moving, he grinned openly at Harry's brief assessment. Harry recognised him on sight though couldn't recall ever being introduced to him. He wondered momentarily at his presence but was distracted entirely when Draco bloody well smiled at him like that. It was so much more interesting than the other boy's grin.

 _Well, at least I'm not the only one who's being obvious,_ a small part of Harry thought, though the larger part was as stupefied as Jackie was in her blank-faced appreciation of Pansy in tights.

It was a shame that Harry couldn't kiss Draco. When he drew before him, the urge to do so was like a physical itch that demanded to be scratched. Somehow, he refrained. They'd talked about it, he and Draco, and Harry had admitted that he hadn't told his friends just yet.

"Why not?" Draco had asked only the day before, his voice quiet and unremarkable enough.

Even so, Harry had cringed. He wanted to tell his friends. He did. It was just that he couldn't. Not yet. Maybe soon – hopefully soon – but there was a big difference between being in a relationship with someone and having everyone know about it. Especially when something as complicated as the other giant-sized secret between him and Draco existed.

Harry was out, he was happy to be, and yet the fear that necessitated all but constantly looking over his shoulder remained. He spoke loudly and proudly at school with Jackie at his side and Jill at his shoulder, but it felt different. Was different. Was unutterably scary. What would people think? It shouldn't matter, and Harry didn't want it to – but what would they say? What would _everyone_ say?

The possibility was too terrifying to find out.

That didn't mean Harry didn't want to kiss Draco, though. He just wished that, for a second, everyone could look away.

"Were you waiting long?" Harry asked, somehow finding his tongue in the absence of Jackie's usual chatter.

Draco shook his head. "Not long. Although I'll be happy to get out of this chill. It's biting."

"That's why you're supposed to prioritise warmth over fashion, Draco," the tall boy said, and as Harry glanced towards him once more, he flashed him another smile. "We haven't met properly before," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Blaise."

"Zabini," Draco said, the faintest edge to his voice as Blaise raised an eyebrow at him. "Bugger off."

Harry stared at Draco, then at Blaise who, before Harry could take it, retracted his extended hand into a gesture of placation instead. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he was clearly missing something.

"Hey," he said instead of asking for clarification. "Nice to meet you. I'm Harry."

"Oh, I know," Blaise said, grin widening.

Harry faltered, glanced towards Draco, then frowned as he was met with Draco's frown directed pointedly at Blaise. "Right," Harry said slowly. He eyed their stare-off for a moment before giving himself a mental shake. "This is Jackie," he elbowed her again, "and Jill. I didn't realise another person would be coming along –"

"But the more the merrier," Jill said with her cherubic smile. She raised a hand to waved. "Nice to meet you, Blaise."

"And you," Blaise said, attention jumping from Draco. "I've seen you in the class we share, actually. I mean, who wouldn't notice you?"

Jill didn't appear even slightly perturbed or ridiculing as an abrupt snort suggested Jackie was. "Yes, I'm not actually in the class," Jill said. "I just join in every so often."

"Every so often? I've seen you every week."

"Yes, well, I do quite enjoy it."

"Just not enough to take the class herself," Jackie said. She still looked a little glassy-eyed but had managed to look away from Pansy for a few seconds to assess Blaise. "She's helping Abel out. He's hopeless without her."

"Jackie," Jill said gently.

"Come on, he kind of is."

"As a matter of fact, he's very capable. Just because he's quiet doesn't mean…"

Harry listened as she continued – he did, truly – but a glance back towards Draco had him more than a little distracted. It wasn't as though it had been more than a day since he'd seen him, or that there was anything particular exceptional about him that day. Except for the fact that he was there. In company. And Harry really, really wanted to kiss him, or hold his hand or – or anything. But he couldn't. He just… couldn't.

"… seem to always be tagging along," Jill was saying, turning towards Harry with a squeeze of the arm she still had hooked in her own. "I think your mum and dad see me as a bit of a babysitter, don't they, Harry?"

"Oh, fuck," Harry blurted out. "I forgot to –"

"You didn't call your mum," Jill said, nodding as her smile became impish. "Yeah, I thought you'd forgotten."

"Busted," Jackie said. She grinned at Pansy, frowning in confusion as she was. "Harry's mum is the ultimate helicopter parent."

"She's not that bad," Harry said, though he scrambled to retrieve his phone.

"She is."

"She's not, actually," Jill said.

"That's because you haven't seen her angry."

"Lily doesn't get angry."

"She does! Or when she freaks out 'cause she doesn't know where Harry is. It would be hilarious if she didn't take out her panicking on everyone around her."

Turning from his friends, Harry ducked towards the side of the building. Dodging through the crowd, he propped a shoulder against the wall, stuck a finger from his free hand into his ear, and hastily dialled.

It barely managed two rings. "Harry?"

"Hi, Mum."

"Oh, thank god. Where are you?"

Harry briefly closed his eyes. It wasn't so much that his mum annoyed him. She was a little trying at times and, if not quite embarrassing, was certainly a touch exasperating. She had her reasons, she always told Harry, and she allowed him liberties because of his phone, but sometimes she put her foot down. Calling when scheduled to was one of those times.

"We just got here," Harry said.

"You mean you just got to London?"

"No, I mean we just pulled up next to the museum –"

"I thought you were going to call me when you got to London?"

"Yeah, I know, but I was –"

"Harry, you promised me. We agreed you'd go, just the three of you, on the condition that you'd stay in contact."

"Mum, I –"

"Can you see why I'm concerned? It a long trip. What if something had happened to you? What if your car had broken down, or something had happened to you or one of the girls, or…"

She continued, her voice terse and sharp yet thickened with concern more than anger. Sighing, closing his eyes once more, Harry tipped his head back against the wall behind him and endured her tirade. James might be the become loud and exuberant, dramatic and jovial, but Lily was the real terror when it came to overprotectiveness.

Where it came from, Harry didn't know. He'd never asked as it always seemed a taboo. His mum always became upset, his dad growing uncharacteristically sombre. The closest he'd come to getting an explanation was James' quiet, "Just let her have this one, Bambi. She needs it, okay?" What that meant, Harry didn't know, but he obliged. If this was the one thing his mum would ask of him, he could handle it.

Even so, standing in the brisk cold outside a museum of magic, his friends just out of earshot, and enduring Lily's worrying was a trial. After a long drive of listening to music too loud and Jackie's off-key sing-a-long, Harry was beginning to feel the telltale signs of a headache coming on.

"… won't feel comfortable having you do this again if I can't be sure you're going to keep your promises, Harry," Lily was saying, a faint warble to her voice. That quiver was worse than any kind of anger.

"Mum, it's fine," Harry said. "Really, I'm sorry. I just forgot, and I was driving –"

"You could have pulled over."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry about that. I'll remember for next time, I promise."

"Harry –"

"I just got distracted." Harry dropped his gaze to his feet, kicking his toes on the pavement. "A bit, you know, excited with going away and everything, and I just… you know…"

He trailed off, and this time Lily didn't jump in with further reprimands. Instead, a brief silence met his words before she sighed heavily. "I know. I know you are, and I'm happy you get to have fun with your friends. I'm just –"

"Worried. Yeah, I got that, Mum."

"I'm your mother, I'm allowed to be."

"I didn't say you weren't."

"You insinuated."

"Mum."

Lily sighed again. "Alright. Just – alright. We'll let this one pass if you promise not to do it again."

Harry nodded. "I promise."

"Good. Then go and have fun with your friends."

"I will."

"And make sure you call me when you check into your hotel tonight."

"Okay, Mum."

"And follow Jill's direction when in doubt. She's the only one out of the three of you with a sensible head on her shoulders."

"Hey, how do you know?" Harry asked with a chuckle. "The private school kids are sensible too, you know."

"These private school kids," Lily's voice took on a shrewd edge. "This wouldn't be the boyfriend you've been so secretive about, would it?"

"Mum!"

"I'm just asking. I'm curious."

Harry covered his face with a hand, shrinking into the shadow of the wall behind him. Who he was hiding from he couldn't say, but dammit, his parents could be so embarrassing sometimes. "We're not having this conversation now."

"We're not having it ever, apparently. I'd like to learn a little more about this boy, you know. Especially if he's so special to you. You seem very smitten with him, if I can say so, and if he's been meeting with you so often over the holidays then –"

"I'm leaving," Harry said overloudly.

Lily laughed. "Alright, alright. I won't pry. Go and have fun with your friends."

"I will."

"And make sure to call me this time."

"Yeah, I promise."

"I love you, sweetheart. I'll talk to you later."

The clicked, beeping with a dial tone as she dropped the line. Lowering it from his ear, Harry eyed the green-washed screen as he gnawed his lip. She'd asked countless times in the past week and would likely continue to, and Harry… It wasn't so much that he wanted to keep his relationship with Draco a secret, and definitely not from them, but…

As close as Harry was with his mum and dad, he didn't think he was ready for that. Maybe with Sirius, and probably more likely with Remus given he was the only one who wouldn't poke fun at Harry for admitting that he was maybe a little smitten, but not yet. Not now. Not when –

"Are you alright? You look exhausted."

Nearly dropping his phone, Harry glanced up. He hadn't even noticed Draco appear at his side. Standing before him barely an arm's length away, his head was slightly tipped and his gaze trained upon the phone. A curl of his hair caught in the thin wind, flicking it over his forehead, and Harry struggled against the instinctive urge to wipe it aside.

"Just Mum," he said, waving up his phone indicatively. "She's a worrywart."

Draco nodded. "I know the feeling."

"Your mum can't be as bad as mine."

Draco smiled crookedly. "Only because she has magic to ease some of her concerns. She demands I allow her to use a Watchdog Charm whenever I'm going into unfamiliar territory for an extended period of time."

Harry blinked. A watchdog…? "She uses a magic charm to follow you around?" he said, instinctively lowering his tone before the risk of the surrounding crowd. "Isn't that kind of invasive?"

Draco shrugged. "She's my mother. So, yes, it is, but I'd rather that than be house-bound for the rest of my life. Although, she's been forced to take a slight step back since I've come of age."

"Seventeen, right?" Harry clarified.

Draco nodded. "A year earlier than you."

"So unfair."

"The world is a cesspool of unfairness, Harry."

Harry laughed. The sound was stolen by a gust of chilling wind, and he hitched his shoulders against it as Draco tucked his own hands into his pockets and his chin into the collar of his coat. "It's bloody freezing out here," Harry said. "Should we head back to the rest of them and go inside?"

Draco shrugged, casting a glance over his shoulder. "Probably."

"How'd you get away, by the way? I'd have expected Jackie to be the one to nag at me to get off the phone."

"Blaise," Draco said, as if that explained everything.

Harry pursed his lips. "He seems to be kind of aware."

"He pries."

"In a good way, or a bad way?"

"Is there a good way of prying?"

Harry snorted. "Hate to break it to you, Draco, but your prying is sort of the basis for our relationship."

A slow smile returned to Draco's lips. He cocked his head again, regarding Harry thoughtfully. "Then I suppose I erred. There is, in fact, a good way."

Harry loved Draco's smile. He loved his perfectly angular, slightly aquiline features that suited him without being too much of a blatant exaggeration. He loved that he held himself so casually and yet so confidently, and that, just for a moment, as Harry stood slightly shielded by him, it felt as though the surrounding crowd faded away. As though Harry's and Draco's friends didn't stand a handful of steps from them, distracted by their own conversation.

The urge to hold him, to link their hands, to lean towards him and draw him into a kiss, was almost impossible to resist. Only almost, however, because even as Harry was opening his mouth again to speak, to suggest what even he didn't know, they were abruptly interrupted by Jackie's overwhelming presence.

"What are you two doing over here?" she said, all but shouldering Draco aside as she dropped herself into their company. "A secret tryst?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jackie," Harry said. He hoped the warmth that swept up his throat into his cheeks was only felt rather than seen.

"Uh-huh." Jackie eyed them both, one after the other, and folded her arms across her chest. "Whatever. Are we going to go inside or what? It's freezing out here."

"Alright, hold your horses," Harry said.

"Our museum tour isn't for at least another hour," Draco said, extracting a hand from his pocket and glancing at his watch. "Almost exactly, in fact."

"So?" Jackie asked. "Weren't you two the ones who said we should poke around a bit and try and get a feel for the place or whatever? For the project and shit?"

They were at that. Harry remembered something of the kind; some excuse, an explanation, for why going to the museum and spending so much time there was a good thing. Originally, it had been solely for their C&C project, but Harry was finding that project was growing significantly less important the more time he spent with Draco.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Harry said, pushing himself away from the wall. "Come on, then. There might be a café or something to get a hot drink inside."

"Oh, yeah, good thinking." Jackie turned on her heel, leading the way back to their friends. "I'm starving."

"How the bloody hell are you starving after eating your weight in jellybeans?"

"Different stomach compartments, Harry. Sweets and non-sweets. Christ, why do I even have to explain this to you?"

Shaking his head, Harry fell into step alongside Draco as they followed in Jackie's wake. He glanced at him sidelong, caught his eyes, and tucked his chin to hide a smile that mirrored the one Draco wore. It was faintly conspiratorial, faintly teasing, and entirely something that only they shared.

With the barest touch, Harry brushed his arm alongside Draco's. It wasn't much, just the graze of their arms, barely felt through the thick material of their jackets, but it would have to do.


	10. Chapter 10

As it happened, the Museum of Magical Arts wasn't anything like Harry had expected.

The building was old. Very old, though Draco had whispered in his ear that it had nothing on some of the architecture that flooded the Wizarding world. "This can't be older than five hundred years or so."

"Oh, only five hundred?" Harry whispered back.

"Practically infantile. My family's manor is older."

"Alright, you prat. Got a bit of a superiority complex for old-timey buildings, have you?"

Draco smirked, tipped his nose into the air, and didn't reply. He left Harry marvelling at just how much his response had changed in what felt like such a short time. How easy it had become to jest and poke fun rather than descend into scowls and spitting accusations.

The foundations of the building were old, but inside was… different. Not what Harry had anticipated at all, and not in the least because when he'd read about 'a museum' he'd pictured an actual museum. This was anything but.

The foyer was draped in ruddy curtains the colour of blood, a thick rug over dark floorboards spreading the impressive length. A chandelier overhead, candelabra unlit along the walls, and the faint smell of smoke added to the slightly foreboding yet enticing atmosphere. It was a giant step out of the modern hubbub of London's streets. That was even without the vintage posters of aged canvas that lined the walls, depicting circus acts and stage performances, men in coattails with pointed moustaches and women in skimpy, glamourous stage-wear.

A handful of idlers, of tourists wandered in off the street, were scattered about the foyer, conversing in muttered exchanges befitting the grandiose ambiance. A stunted line snaked to an ornate little window in one wall, the calligraphic word'tickets' painted overhead on a gold-plated board reminiscent of a booth at a carnival. The young woman at the counter murmured in a humming tone that similarly fit the atmosphere of the room as much as her heavy, dark makeup and puffy hair did.

That was to say nothing of the tour that followed.

Dark corridors. Gloomily lit rooms hazy with smoke. A display with a stage, curtains drawn and clutters of chairs seated at round tables as though awaiting a performance. There was a room with pictures along the walls, plaques of brass with their own calligraphic print, and illustrations upon that same vintage canvas hanging from the walls, brought to life by the ambient glow.

"Magic has been an integral part of society for centuries," the tour guide said, a middle-aged man with long hair, a smoker's rasp, and a theatrical flair to the gestures accompanying his every words. He spoke as he led his dutifully silent guests down the entry corridor, walking backwards and gesticulating as he did. "Whether for entertainment, science, medicine, or even in contribution to wartime efforts, it has existed and been an integral part of many a generation."

"Wartime efforts?" Jackie muttered into Harry's ear not quite loudly enough to override the guide.

"Did you even read any of the notes that Draco and I wrote?" Harry whispered back. "There was that guy, what's his name –"

"Maskelyne," Draco said from Harry's other side. "Jasper Maskelyne."

"Yeah, him."

"Go figure," Jackie muttered before leaning into Pansy's side to relay that very message.

They were led into a back room with a bar as thinly veiled with smoke as the foyer. Crystal glasses clinked as drinks were offered 'as befit the tour' though with the exclusion of certain minors, much to Blaise's muffled protestations. Another corridor, a glimpse into a room of props and displays, the tour guide's sweeping flourish as he bared an elaborately painted box that had once held women as they were 'cut into pieces'. Pansy liked that one in particular.

And then beyond once more.

There were rooms with trinkets. Displays with old books and faded writing. A glimpse behind the scenes of the performance that would be undertaken later that day involved peering into a room overflowing with feather boas, sequined dresses, and extravagant headdresses. Left momentarily to their own devices, Jill somehow managed to find a crown of sorts that actually suited her.

"You look simply grand, my lady," Blaise said, conducting an elaborate bow that could have rivalled the tour guide's flourishes and left them both dissolving into a fit of giggles that only subsided at a frowning glance from the guide himself.

It wasn't what Harry had expected. Not at all. Not because it was a regurgitation of the knowledge and history that he and Draco had been meticulously studying for weeks, nor because of the ambiance, the décor, or the excessive theatrics of their guide. It was simply… different. Definitely not typical of a museum.

Which wasn't to say that it was necessarily bad, but he found himself utterly unsurprised when, leading them back to the stage room, the guide planted himself before their crowd and began performing magic tricks.

"Of course, while magic was more credible, more noteworthy, and at times even more shunned the past than it is today, that is not to say it has disappeared entirely," the man said, his husky voice low and tempting in a way that had Harry and Draco sharing a smirking glance. He spread his arms wide. "Magic is all around us. At the slightest turn, with the flick of a finger, the gift of illusions and witchcraft can appear."

With that, he produced as if from thin air a sheaf of cards and spread them in a perfect array before him to the smiling and murmuring delight of the crowd. Descending into further theatrics, fingers sweeping and wriggling, he played his audience like a fiddler with his fiddle.

It was all a show, a performance of too many gestures made more believable and grandiose in the shadows and smoke throughout the room. Harry watched with narrowed eyes for even the slightest hint of real magic, but with the newfound awareness he'd gained, the nudging suggestion of realness that played upon his senses that he hadn't noticed before Draco had enlightened him, remained slumbering and silent.

As the performance continued, evolving from tricks to more tricks, to props produced and vanquished, Harry found himself, if not disappointed, a little underwhelmed. He watched with sceptical regard when the man produced a dove from his sleeve with a sleight of hand that could be detected by anyone not fooled by his theatrical distractions.

"That wasn't a conjugation?" Draco murmured in Harry's ear, a question for clarification the likes that he'd pitted a number of times already.

Harry shook his head, leaning back. "Just a pretty well-trained bird."

"You could do better than that."

"What?" Harry glanced up at him. "You mean with real…?"

Draco shook his head, eyeing the performance and the enraptured audience. Even Pansy and Blaise were captivated, though to Harry's eye there was a touch more wariness to their attentiveness than the rest of the crowd. Jill smiled in quiet delight as the dove took a flapping turn of the room, while Jackie rolled her eyes and said just a little too loudly, "It better not shit on me, I swear to God."

"I have to admit," Harry whispered back to Draco, "even though I knew it wouldn't happen, I was sort of hoping that it would be real magic."

"Real?"

"Like your magic."

"Our magic," Draco clarified, and Harry grinned. Ours. Like he really was a part of it, too. "Aren't you always the one arguing with me over theatrics and illusions being 'real' too?"

Harry shrugged, watching as the tour guide caught the dove and began an spiel of the nature and apparent uniqueness of his particular feathery companion. "Yeah, well, maybe you've changed my mind a bit. It's still real to me, but not, you know…"

He trailed off, watching the ensuing performance, and was only aware that Draco wasn't doing the same when his knuckles brushed the back of Harry's hand. He started slightly but didn't pull away as Draco leant into him again to whisper into his ear. "I could show you, you know."

Harry glanced at him sidelong. "Show me what?"

"We're in London already. We may as well make the most of it." Draco's hand brushed Harry's once more, then shifted to slip into a handhold. In the darkness of the room, it would have been adequately hidden, but Harry couldn't help glancing over his shoulder nonetheless.

"You mean," he whispered back, turning his face until his lips all but brushed Draco's ear, "that you could show me?"

"I could."

"That place you mentioned?"

"Yes."

"I'd actually be allowed to go there?"

Draco smiled. It was a little hard to make out in the dark room, but Harry heard it in his reply as much as he saw it. "Do you think anyone would stop us? Besides, why would they?" Tugging Harry's hand gently, he took a step backwards from the bulk of the watchful audience. "Come on."

"Now?" Harry glanced back at the performance, at his friends. "What about -?"

"There's the lunchtime cabaret," Draco reminded him. "You said you called to make a booking for that, didn't you?"

"Jackie did, but yeah."

"Then they'll be appropriately distracted." Draco backed away further, pulling Harry into the darkness of the corridor leading from the stage room. "Don't worry, I'm sure Pansy at least will have the sense to make an excuse for us."

The offer was tempting. As much as Harry felt a flicker of guilt for abandoning Jackie and Jill, the chance to see the Wizarding world, Draco's world, that he'd only been told about, was too great an opportunity to pass up. Just as great a temptation, to spend the afternoon just in Draco's company was…

Harry spared a final glance over his shoulder as Draco turned and drew him through the watching audience. He caught a glimpse of the performance – something to do with, predictably, more theatrical flourishes and a vibrant bouquet – and for just a moment met Jill's eyes where she'd turned towards him. The only one of their friends to notice, she didn't frown at his retreat. She didn't even seem confused. Instead, offering Harry a wink, she leaned towards Blaise to whisper into his ear, pointing at something in the tour guide's vicinity.

Maybe Harry's friends weren't so oblivious after all. Certainly not Jill.

It wasn't direct permission, but it was enough for Harry. Turning, he picked up his pace and fall into step at Draco's side, squeezing his hand as much in agreement as to assure himself that he was still holding it as they dove into the semi-darkness.

"So, where are we going?" Harry asked, voice still low despite it being smothered by the heavy shadows of the corridor. "Is it far? Do you want me to drive?"

Draco's teeth flashed white and bright, all that Harry could make out of his expression. "Not at all. Leave that part up to me. This time, Harry, it's my turn to show you a little bit of our world."

Harry grinned. If that wasn't the cherry atop a temptation sundae, he didn't know what was.

When Harry's feet touched the ground, touched blessed, solid ground, he almost keeled over. His stomach flipped, his head spun, and the unsavoury taste of bile welled in the back of his throat.

Flinging an arm out instinctively, he latched onto Draco's shoulder while simultaneously bending double. Swallowing convulsively, he squeezed his eyes closed, took a deep breath, and released it in a shaky gasp.

"Bloody hell," he croaked, shaking his head before abruptly stopping. No, head-shaking definitely made him feel worse. "That was - that was a -"

"An experience?" Draco suggested.

"Mm."

"I'll have you know, you're doing remarkably well. Most people vomit the first time."

"I can't imagine why." Harry swallowed again, grimacing at the taste dribbling down his throat. Peeling his eyes open, he peered up at Draco where he was steadily becoming less wavering and more of a real, solid person. "I thought that was the thing I'd done before. You know, with the fence."

To his credit, Draco wasn't openly smirking at him. There was an amused crinkle to his eyes, but he was otherwise nothing but considerate in pretending that he didn't find the entire situation laughable. He even when so far as to place a hand atop of Harry's, squeezing it gently. "It's apparently worse to do Side-Along Apparition -"

"You don't say."

"- and especially bad if the passenger doesn't have much experience."

"Yeah, well, I think I about tick that box." Harry grimaced again, but his wavering discomfort was already fading into little more than a loose knot in his gut. Straightening, he glanced around himself and noticed for the first time that they were in a room. A small, simplistic room that held nothing but a single chair and table. "Where are we, by the way?"

Half-turning, Harry drew his hand from Draco's shoulder, only to find it captured and his fingers comfortably linked. He spared a glance down at their joined hands, then up at Draco, but Draco only shrugged. "This is a common Apparition point. It's a backroom of the Leaky Cauldron."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Harry asked casually, though he was all-too aware of their clasped hands. Why it bothered him so much more that day than usual he didn't quite know; maybe it was because they'd been in Muggle London and he was made even more aware of potentially watchful eyes, of the judgment that those eyes could hold. Somehow, it was infinitely easier to be loudly proud of himself and his sexuality when he didn't have to consider a second person.

Except that, in spite of that, Draco's hand felt nice. Especially nice when Harry still felt wobbly on his feet. Warm, comfortable, and natural in the best possible way. It was reassuring rather than disconcerting given Harry now found himself in such an suddenly different location to the side street he'd been standing on but moments before.

"So, that's Apparition," he murmured, taking a slow turn as he looked around the room. He kept his hold on Draco's hand the whole time. "Crazy to think that teleportation actually exists."

"Apparition," Draco corrected.

"Same thing." Harry flashed Draco a grin as Draco rolled his eyes. "So, we're in the Wizarding part of London now, then?"

"Almost," Draco said. "The Leaky Cauldron acts as a gateway between our world and theirs."

"You mean your world and mine?"

"No. You're as much a part of my world as any other witch or wizard, Harry, regardless of where you've been raised. I'm not as savagely prejudiced against Muggleborns as I used to be, you know. You're probably responsible for that."

"I'd say you were probably headed that way yourself even before you met me," Harry said, though he smiled nonetheless. It was something special, that Draco considered him a wizard even though he could barely cast magic of his own. Real magic, that was. Draco had been showing him small things, and he'd even offered him his wand a handful of times, but Harry was still hesitant after he'd exploded the snowman they'd built two days before Christmas. It had been entirely accidental and Draco hadn't appeared fazed, but Harry was left disturbed. If it was that easy to accidentally explode something, would it be just as easy to hurt someone?

Harry didn't know, and he hadn't asked Draco at the time. He wasn't about to then either as Draco led the way from the Apparition room through a door and down a short flight of stairs. Spilling out onto a sedate room cast in a post-lunch lethargy, it looked like any other pub with its smattering of diners prodding at their meals and sipping from mugs.

Except that a fair portion of them wore robes.

"No kidding," Harry murmured, following on Draco's heels as they wove through the tables. He couldn't take his eyes of the clientele, staring at first a man with a slightly crooked pointed hat that could have passed as a night cap then an elderly woman in full bathrobe regalia. "You weren't joking when you said witches and wizards wore robes."

"Did you really think I was?" Draco asked.

"I dunno. I think I maybe hoped so." He eyed a handful of men and women barely older than himself in floor-length robes with sweeping sleeves. It was about as far from modern fashion as possible, and Harry wasn't exactly the bee's knees when it came to such sensibilities. "What happens if a Muggle wanders in here or something?"

"Muggle Repulsion charms," Draco said. "It generally keeps them at bay."

"For real? There's charms for that"

"Of course." Draco shrugged as though it were only to be expected. "I suppose you could see this as confirmation of my suspicions."

Harry frowned. "What supicions?"

"That you really are magical. You wouldn't make it in here otherwise, even if I had Apparated with you. You'd be high-tailing out of here in no time."

Harry almost leapt upon a retort, exasperated and a touch amused, but the words died on his tongue. Draco was right. It was a confirmation of sorts. A confirmation that kindled another bundle of warmth in Harry's chest.

Draco pulled him past the barkeeper, nodding slightly at the older man hunched over the counter scrubbing dutifully at the inside of a mug. The man regarded them with narrowed eyes but didn't stop them from bypassing him. Harry had to fight the urge to extract his hand from Draco's at the weight of the man's judgment. Draco had said that the Wizarding world wasn't like that, but even so.

"It's because of me," Draco said, capturing his attention as they stepped out the back of the bar into a brick-walled courtyard, empty of everything but stacked barrels and a pile of splintered crates. "Not us. Just me."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, watching as Draco extracted his wand.

"Because I'm a Malfoy. My name doesn't elicit as much respect as it used to. Quite the opposite, actually, given certain family relations. History speaks for itself."

Harry had heard about that. Draco had mentioned it, albeit briefly and with the same blank face he wore at that moment as he tapped one of the bricks before him with a lazy prod of his wand. He knew that Draco's family was old blood – pureblood, as he said – and that the Malfoys were once highly regarded and practically nobility. But then the evil dark lord happened, the war happened, and that changed.

Draco had barely mentioned it, but Harry wasn't given the impression it was because he wouldn't tell him. Not because he couldn't. It was Harry that couldn't bring himself to ask in the face of the closed sobriety of Draco's expression.

Any urge to ask that may have arisen at that moment was further quelled when, at the touch of Draco's wand, the bricks rippled. They clinked. They grinded. A rumble seemed to shudder through the ground. Then, with a cracking slide, the wall split to reveal a perfectly formed archway.

The wall had opened. A wall of fused, aged bricks the likes that Harry knew shouldn't budge so easily. But what lay beyond that opening was even more incredible.

At midday, the crowds of witches and wizards appeared to be out in full-force. There were men and women, children throughout, and all weaving in a garbled dance of embroidered robes and pointed hats. Sparks danced overhead, jumping across those hats as though they were stepping stones, and somewhere distantly something played jaunty music that managed to weave into a mess of a song with the conversation and laughter, the shouts and cries of playing children.

Drawing his gaze over the masses, Harry took a slow step through the opening in the wall. He was barely aware of the hand Draco still held. He stared at the people, so many witches and wizards that couldn't be mistaken as anything else, and shook his head slowly. So many. So many magical people, people like him – or so Draco claimed. Somehow, seeing the people, catching a glimpse into their world, made all the difference.

This… was real.

It was a giant spread of a hidden neighbourhood. Stores lined what appeared to be an outdoor mall. A cobbled path lay between parallel lines of shopfronts, winding in a serpentine fashion into the distance, and at every stop was a new wonder. Potage's Cauldron Shop boasted windows filled to overflowing with wide bellied pots in black, brass, and gold, some puffing and smoking and one bubbling with something that looked suspiciously poisonous. Gambol & Japes Jokeshop exploded and cracked with magical excitement, the doors and windows sporadically springing open to emit sprays of glitter as often as shoppers stumbling onto the curb with arms laden beneath paper bags.

Madam Milkin's depicted stylised robes hanging in the window but also one in particular dancing in a flourish of skirts to showcase a glorious pattern. An Emporium flapped and clattered, adding avian voices to the thrumming din. A sweetshop that reeked of saccharine flavour even from a distance, a secondhand bookshop with a giant book above its door that languidly turned its own pages, and an ice-cream parlour that bequeathed scoops not only piled ludicrously high but so vibrant that they looked all but inedible.

It was a rush of colour, sound, and excitement. Of mayhem and too many people that somehow didn't seem to be annoyed at one another for their close proximity but rather wove together with practiced steps and easy camaraderie. It was, Harry thought, unlike any mall he'd ever seen – which made it positively fantastic.

"Brilliant," he whispered, taking another slow step through the archway.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Draco said.

Harry glanced towards him. "Really? Diagonally?"

"I'm not the one who thought up the name."

"Of course not. You'd surely think up something far more prestigious and less… pun-ey."

"Pun-ey?"

Harry grinned, turning back to the street. "Bloody brilliant. Can you show me?"

"Which part specifically?" Draco asked, a smirk in his voice.

Harry didn't care. Draco could smirk, could roll his eyes and click his tongue over his childish enthusiasm all he liked. It wouldn't dampen his excitement in the least. This was magic. A world of magic. How was it possible to be anything but excited?

"I don't even care," Harry said. "Everything."

Draco laughed. Not a smirk but a proper laugh, eyes crinkling and teeth flashing. "It would be my pleasure."

So he did. And, though the museum had been interesting in its own way, Diagon Alley was infinitely better.

They dove into the jokeshop, and Harry was assaulted in the best possible way by flying gadgets, bright packages, and confusing apparatus that popped and whirred, spinning and spluttering with surprises. A cluster of cackling children demonstrated the remarkable effects of costuming that magically fit the face so that an eight-year-old sported a full beard and moustache and a girl a little older a hooked nose sprouting long whiskers. Crawling, animated spiders that looked more realistic than the real thing, trick boxes, elaborate board games, and bundles of sweets cast in neon packaging. It was so crammed within that Harry felt a little like a sardine in a can, but it was worth it. Worth it for just a glimpse.

They paused at the cauldron shop, because Harry wouldn't believe until he asked the woman at the counter that the pot on display was really made of solid gold – which it was. They ducked briefly into Madam Malkin's, because Draco said Harry needed to wear a pair of robes at least once – and they somehow managed to walk out with said robe wrapped neatly and packaged in a bag hanging from the hand Harry didn't still firmly hold.

"Why the bloody hell did you buy me a dress?" Harry couldn't help but ask for the umpteenth time.

"It's robes, Harry," Draco replied as he had each time prior. "Honestly, we've been over this."

"Dress, robes, whatever. That cost a fortune, you shouldn't have –"

"This," Draco held up the bag, waving it in Harry's direction, "cost a pittance. Be happy you didn't get one specially tailored. They take longer to make and cost more than a pretty penny."

Harry swatted the bag away as he let Draco lead them through the crowd. "Cheap or not, I can't believe you just bought me clothes. When am I even going to wear that?"

"When you visit my home, I assume. I personally couldn't care less if you wear robes or Muggle clothes – though I do have a very good eye for fashion – but you might feel out of sorts with the rest of the household dressed up in Wizarding wear."

Harry's retort died in his throat. Visiting Draco's house. Meeting his family. The thought had played across Harry's mind countless times, but he'd never let himself dwell upon it. It was far too daunting. Swallowing thickly, Harry hitched his shoulders in a tight shrug but otherwise didn't reply.

To his credit, Draco appeared to understand his feelings without being told. Squeezing his hand, his pompousness deflating like a balloon released, he tipped his head directionally. "Come on. I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

In the throes of winter, ice-cream wouldn't have been Harry's first choice, but Diagon Alley appeared to be thickened with more than just a crowd. The warmth of the mall had to be artificially heated, for not even a glimpse of the winter frost touched the scene, despite being outside. With bodies packed and constantly moving, it was almost hot. Definitely warm enough for a neon green ice-cream cone that tasted of a slightly confusing mixture of lime and aniseed. Draco looked particularly petulant when Harry flicked a drop at him. It somehow managed to land on his nose.

"Menace," he said.

"It tastes good," Harry said. "You should try it."

"Off my own nose?"

"You could leave it there. It kind of looks like snot, to be honest. Although, if your snot is that bright, you probably need to get it checked out by a doctor."

Draco arched an eyebrow. He dabbed the end of his nose with a finger. Then, eyeing Harry with a shrewd stare, swiped a finger in his own chocolate brown and bright orange scoop. He was smearing it across Harry's cheek before Harry had the chance to duck away from him.

"Ew! Stop it," Harry laughed, batting his hand away.

Draco grinned. "You started it. Be prepared to taste your own medicine."

That grin disappeared only briefly when Harry landed a green-smeared hand onto Draco's cheek, the ice-cream oozing between his fingers. In short order, more ice-cream was painting their faces than made its way into their mouths, and Harry found himself struggling for breath between laughter, fleeing into the shadow of the nearest store to escape Draco's dextrous hands. Draco followed him, dodging and weaving through the crowd that barely spared either of them a glance.

"You're got crap everywhere," Harry laughed as he all but crashed into the wall. Reaching for Draco's face with sticky hands, he drew a line through the mess on his cheek. His laughter died, however, when Draco caught his hand in his own sticky fingers and lowered it to his mouth, running his lips over Harry's knuckles.

Harry's breath froze. Almost instantly, the noise of Diagon Alley seemed to fade away. The clamour, the excitement, swarm of shoppers – gone. All that existed was Draco, his dark eyes, his pale face speckled in green gunk yet somehow still beautiful. The kiss of his breath upon Harry's skin as he lowered his lips to Harry's hand once more. Eyes easing closed, he slowly, almost lazily, slid one of Harry's fingers into his mouth. The warm wetness of his tongue, of the inside of his mouth, his lips as he slowly sucked the length of Harry's fingers, fizzled parts of Harry's brain that he hadn't properly known existed.

As Draco released his finger, his eyes hooded, he met Harry's gaze with a silent question. Harry didn't need to think to reply. He leant towards Draco, caught his lips with his own, and drew him into a hungry kiss that tasted of chocolate and orange, of lime and aniseed.

Draco's lips. His tongue. The smooth lines of his cheek as Harry chased the mess he'd made on his face, streaking it with kisses. He locked his fingers into Draco's hair, around his head, drawing him closer as he sank back into the wall, and for a moment he couldn't care less that there were hundreds of people who could be watching. Hundreds who could see, could judge, could scowl at them or fling slurs. In Diagon Alley, in the Wizarding world already so surreal and magical, it didn't seem much of a stretch to manage this kind of miracle, too.

Harry sucked at Draco's lips, drinking in his breath, revelling in the warm press of his body until he was gasping for air. The ragged gasps of Draco's own breathing were all that managed to override the pounding of his skipping heartbeat in his head. It was the only thing that mattered. The only thing, until Draco drew away from him slightly.

Opening eyes he hadn't even realised he'd closed, Harry blinked up at him. Definitely up, he realised, given his legs seemed to have caved a little, the wall all that was properly keeping him upright. Draco's own eyes were still closed, his cheeks visibly flushed beneath the gleam of ice-cream, and his hold on Harry at his nape and in a fierce fist of his jacket was as tight as Harry's own.

Gathering himself and what little remained of his senses, Harry pressed a light kiss upon Draco lips. "Um," he began. "Maybe we should…"

"Mm," Draco hummed back, and Harry didn't know what he was agreeing to. He didn't even know what he'd been suggesting in the first place. All he knew was that, as Draco opened his eyes and took a half step backwards, he regretted whatever he'd meant by such a foolish interruption. In the middle of the street or in the privacy of a dark room, he abruptly didn't want there to be even a foot of distance between them.

Which was why, when Draco loosened his hold on Harry only enough to resume their fast handhold, it was nothing short of a relief. Drawing his wand from his pocket, Draco smiled at Harry with an quirk of his lips that bespoke a shared secret. Harry wasn't quite sure what that secret was, but he was happy to be considered in on it.

"It might be a good idea to clean up a little if we intended to sightsee any more."

Harry grinned. He cast a hand up himself in a sweeping gesture. "I'm all yours," he said, realising only belatedly just how that would sound. At Draco's smirk, he felt his cheeks flush. "Shut up."

Newly cleaned by one of Draco's charms, they dove back into the foot-traffic of Diagon Alley. It was no less exciting, no less wondrous, but Harry found Draco's presence at his side far more distracting than it had been before. He apparently wasn't alone in his distraction either, for when he made a show of peering into the window of the owl shop, his attention was caught more by Draco's reflection watching him than the tawny owl behind the glass.

"Maybe I should get a bird," Harry mused aloud. "My dog might eat it, but it would be cool."

"An owl?" Draco asked.

"You said you use owls specifically for mail delivery, don't you?" At Draco's nod, Harry shrugged. "Well, we've got those mirrors you gave me, so we wouldn't really need that. I'd probably get a dove or something."

Draco snorted. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. A trained one. Really docile."

"And what, pray tell, would this dove be used for? I'm sure you've got a purpose in mind."

Shrugging again, Harry casually crossed the minimal distance between them and hooked an arm around Draco's waist. It felt surprisingly natural, easy, and utterly wonderful to be so close. So close in public specifically, and yet for once Harry didn't feel the need to glance over his shoulder for judging eyes.

"I could think of a thing or two to do with it," Harry said, though purchasing a dove or any other kind of bird was about the least important thing that came to mind. Especially when Draco looped his own arm around Harry in return, draping it comfortably over his shoulders. He wasn't more than an inch or two taller than Harry, but it somehow fit perfectly.

"You should perhaps sideline that idea until you can convince your dog not to eat it like a chicken nugget," Draco suggested.

Why the hell are we still talking about birds? Harry wondered, though he only smiled at Draco. "Yeah, maybe a good idea."

Turning from the owl emporium, they made their slow, wandering way down Diagon Alley. It was still interesting, still exciting and novel enough that Harry enjoyed each new sight that he beheld, but the best part was being with Draco. Walking alongside him. Being so close to him and knowing that, in this instance at least, it was entirely okay. Not even the glimpse into a store stuffed with broomsticks and quidditch gear could quite compare.

Nothing did until Draco stopped before Ollivander's.

Mid-afternoon seemed to have drained at least half of Diagon Alley's witches and wizards like water down a pipe. One moment there and then, as a distant clocktower struck three, they all but disappeared on the spot. Harry didn't mind so much, even if the sight of so many magical people in such an array of robes was a wondrous sight to be seen.

Outside Ollivander's, there was even less foot-traffic. A stately building, old yet polished and sleek, it appeared to be empty of anyone but a single figure, little more than a shadow, positioned behind a wide desk. Squinting through the darkened windows, Harry could make out rows of shelving but not much else.

"What's this?" he asked, glancing up at the calligraphic text written in gold paint above the door. He started slightly as he read it properly. "Is this -?"

"A wandmaker's shop," Draco finished for him. "I feel like it's only right."

"A wand?"

Draco nodded.

"Am I -? Are you -?"

"Getting you a wand?" Draco nodded again. "Yes. As I said, it's only right that a wizard has a wand. Especially one of age."

Harry turned slowly back to the store. There was so much wrong with that suggestion that he didn't even know where to begin. The money, for one. Draco had already bought him an exorbitantly expensive outfit that day, as well as a number of knick-knacks that he'd purchased before Harry had even been aware of what he was doing. He might not know the ins and outs of the unusual gold, silver, and bronze coins that Draco palmed to the cashiers, but it couldn't have been a cheap day all up.

But a wand. A real wand.

More than the money, there was the nature of it. This was big. This was a magical tool, something to distinguish him as a proper magic user, and not of the illusionary kind. Not of the sleight of hand or elaborately practiced tricks. With a wand, Harry wouldn't be just a parlour magician like the tour guide that even at that moment was entertaining his friends halfway across the city.

It was wonderful to consider, but daunting in a whole new way. What would this mean? What if his parents found out? Christ, what would Lily and James say if they found out he could do such a thing, that magic was real and that he could use it?

Harry wanted it. He wanted it sorely. He wanted more than almost anything to be a part of this world, the world of magic, that accepted not only the truth of magic and all that it was capable but Harry himself. What would it be like, to practice magic every day? What would it feel like, to know that he wasn't an anomaly because of his interests, and that it was real and valid? Just as much, what would it be like to be able to walk down a street with Draco, hand in hand or in a half-embrace as they were now? To be able to touch and kiss in public, to never feel the fear of being scorned or spat at because he liked a boy instead of a girl?

It would be perfect. Wonderful. So wonderful that in the past few weeks Harry had felt somehow slighted that he'd been robbed of the opportunity. And yet…

Harry was shaking his head. Leaning into Draco, tightening his arm around his waist, he pressed his cheek into Draco's shoulder. "No. I – no. I don't think so."

"What?"

Harry shook his head again, turning his face into Draco's jacket. "I'd like to, Draco. I really would. But… maybe not. Or at least, not yet."

Draco was silent for a moment, a heavy silence that didn't feel accusatory but weighted nonetheless. Harry heard him take a number of short inhalations, beginning to speak before stopping himself, before he finally managed. "Can I ask why?"

Harry shrugged. "To be honest, I don't even know myself. Just that – I dunno, I don't really feel ready for that just yet. It seems to big, like stepping over a line into a place that I can't come back from." A beat of silence passed between them, and he murmured a guilty "sorry," into Draco's shoulder.

Draco huffed, but there was no scoffing or frustrated retort. Instead, Harry felt the warm press of Draco's lips against his crown, a short kiss loaded with acceptance. "Don't be sorry," he murmured. "Whenever you're ready."

For some reason, some foolish reason, Harry's eyes blurred. Blinking fiercely, he swallowed the rush of emotion that threatened to sweep through him, catching him in its tumultuous tide. Straightening, lifting his head and glancing to the side just long enough to be sure he wouldn't really start crying, Harry nodded. "Thanks."

As if it had been waiting for their conversation to reach a natural close, the distant clocktower chimed again. Straining his ears, Harry cocked his head to listen to the chimes. "Shit," he said as they silenced. "It's four already?"

Draco, shrugging off the momentary solemnity, clicked his tongue. "How long do you think it will take your friends to send a search party out for you?"

"By friends you mean Jackie?"

"Yes. Naturally."

Harry winced. There wasn't a chance in hell that Jackie could actually find them, but she wasn't stupid. She'd put two and two together and come to the conclusion that Harry had been hiding a pretty big secret. "Yeah, well, given the mood she'll be in, I can't imagine it'll take her long. She's probably already terrorising Pansy and Blaise."

"Not Jillian?" Draco asked curiously, turning them in the direction they'd come and beginning a slow, wandering stride in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Jill's dealt with Jackie for far too long to be affected by her tantrums. I just hope she can control her long enough for us to get back."

Harry wasn't worried. Not really. Jackie would work herself into a huff, but her disgruntlement wouldn't last for long. Volatility was practically her middle name, and it had the tendency to die like a fire before a dash of cold water. Even so, that Harry and Draco had abandoned their friends for so long dropped a lump of sodden discomfort in his belly. He'd had possibly the best afternoon of his life, but wishing wouldn't make it last forever.

They made their way back towards the Leaky Cauldron with deliberate intent but not hastily. Draco even suggested they stop off for a late lunch, to which Harry only stared at him silently, pointedly, until Draco smirked and discarded the suggestion. It was only when they approached the wall that had been an archway hours before that Draco halted in step, freezing with sudden tension.

Harry didn't know why at first. Glancing up at Draco, at the tight lines of his face, he followed the line of his gaze towards the bricked archway and the smattering of posters stuck across it. Posters he hadn't noticed coming out but must have surely been there.

They were a little tattered, but not enough to suggest they'd been there for long. Yellowing paper, stark black print, and images in motion at the very centre of each, as though they were little snippets of movies constantly playing a different yet stagnant scene. Moving pictures, Harry reminded himself. Draco had told him about them, had even shown him one when he'd asked, but it felt somehow different seeing it out in the open, carelessly pinned to a wall.

It wasn't the movement that was disconcerting, however. It was the stark, printed words WARNING and DEATH EATERS in block letters. It was the faces themselves, thin and gaunt yet more often than not twisted into a sneer, a scowl, a cruel smile or bared teeth. One woman even seemed to peer down at the words beneath her and harrumph with contempt before tossing her head and sweeping her manacled arms across her chest.

"Held in Azkaban…" Harry murmured, slowly linking the snippets of information. "Death Eaters to be taken… what?" He frowned, glancing up at Draco again. "What does this mean?"

Draco swallowed. The motion was slightly convulsing, unlike his usual composure. Pressing his lips together firmly, Draco gave a slight shake of his head, closed his eyes briefly, and turned to Harry. "They're Death Eaters. From the war."

"The war?"

"They were on – on the other side." Another swallow, this one only a little easier. "They sided of the Dark Lord."

Harry turned slowly back towards the posters. "Right."

"Azkaban is the prison they're kept in. Or were."

"Were?"

Draco's hand tightened where he'd grasped Harry's, almost clinging to him. "They're being relocated to be given the Dementor's Kiss."

Harry opened his mouth to ask, confusion forming words in his throat, but they faded as he watched Draco's cheeks pale even more than normal. What a Dementor was, Harry didn't know. Why whatever punishment was being dealt was called such a thing was just as unknown. But it was clearly bad, clearly horrifying to Draco, and Harry couldn't bring himself to ask.

Instead, he squeezed Draco's hand back and leant against him, silent company to wait alongside him as Draco worked through whatever thoughts afflicted him. He hadn't spoken much of this war, nothing but to mention that his family had been on the wrong side of it and were shunned as a result. That the Dark Lord had done bad things, terrible things, but that he'd been killed in action. Gazing up at the posters, Harry supposed it was only natural to assume that his followers, the obsessive companions of his vicious cult, would be imprisoned if not punished further. Did the Wizarding world have the death penalty? The possibility turned Harry's gut. Surely not. Surely not even for criminals could witches and wizards drift so far from England's non-Wizarding standards.

"That woman," Draco said, drawing Harry's attention once more. He faltered for a moment, then raised his free hand to point at the image of a bedraggled figure in an endless fit of fury within the confines of her poster picture. "That's my aunt."

Harry's breath caught. He stared at the woman, then at Draco, then back again. His aunt. Bellatrix Lestrange was printed in block letters beneath her image, but it was more than her surname that so vastly differed to what Harry knew of Draco. She looked nothing if not insane, battering around the picture's frame. There was little human about her in the way she bared her teeth, snarling, hauling herself backwards and wrenching at the manacles that restrained her. To think that someone like her, someone so opposite to Draco, could be his relative…

"She deserves it," Draco whispered, so quietly it was barely words at all. Quiet, but certain. "After everything she did, she… she deserves what's coming to her."

Harry bit his lip, stifling the urge to ask. Did he want to know what was so bad to warrant such conviction? Did he want to know what was 'coming to her'? No. Probably not. Definitely not if the thought could have Draco's chin trembling so slightly it was barely visible, his gaze locked and face as pale as a ghost. Regardless of whether he believed his aunt deserved her fate, it must be painful to consider. It would be a horror to watch even people Harry cared nothing for to be brutally punished.

Squeezing Draco's hand again, Harry dropped his cheek onto his shoulder. "I wouldn't have picked it," Harry murmured, quietly enough that he could be ignored if that was what Draco wanted. "She doesn't look much like you."

Draco huffed. It might have been an attempt at a laugh, but it came out slightly strangled. "You'd be surprised."

"I bet I would be." Harry peered up at him. "I don't think she's like you at all."

Draco glance towards him. This time, Harry thought his meaning was properly understood. Draco's face was still pale, but a small smile ghosted across his lips. He pressed a quick kiss onto Harry's forehead before clearing his throat and setting his shoulders with another huff. "Yes, well," he said, drawing his wand from his pocket and flourishing it at the wall. "Enough of this. A rather rude happenstance to stumble across, but there's no use crying about being assaulted by unsavoury images, is there?"

Lifting his head from Draco's shoulder, Harry smiled. "Sure," he said, squeezing Draco's hand one more time. "Let's leave ASAP, yeah? But, just a thought – do you think we could maybe take the bus back to the museum? I'm not too keen on trying this Apparition thing again."

"But Harry," Draco said, drawing Harry after him as he stepped towards the opening wall, "however will you get better if you don't practice?"

Harry groaned, a little more dramatically than was necessary, and allowed himself to be pulled in Draco's wake. He wouldn't really protest. Not when Draco was visibly attempting to clamber from an abruptly horrified mood. Instead, he trudged in Draco's footsteps and only cast a single wistful glance over his shoulder at the world he was leaving behind.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter deals pretty heavily with internalised homophobia. If you think this might be triggering for you, please read carefully and skip where necessary. Please.

A glaring Jackie could rival Medusa. Harry hadn't ever seen her turn anyone to stone, but he was sure she could manage it. That, or set her victims on fire.

Harry ignored her. It was relatively easy to manage; he'd become adept at feigned distraction over the years. Jackie's theatrics demanded it if he wanted to remain sane. Flipping through the menu spread open before him, he scanned the selection on offer.

"I'm happy to just get a couple of pizzas to share," he said to the rest of his friends.

"I'm not partial to pizza," Pansy said from across the table, sniffing into her glass of water. "It's too greasy."

"Is it just the greasiness that you don't like?" Jill asked. "Because I think proper restaurants would do better than something like a Pizza Hut."

"Hey, don't criticise Pizza Hut pizza," Harry said without real investment.

"Are you a fan?" Blaise asked Jill.

"Of pizza, or Pizza Hut?"

"Either."

"Both. Jackie, Harry, and I have a habit of a pizza night at least once a month, and it's awesome." She flashed Harry a smile. "Although pepperoni sometimes makes me feel a little bit giddy."

"I can't believe you," Jackie said.

It wasn't the first time she'd said those words, totally unrelated to the conversation at hand. It was closer to the tenth repeat. Harry ignored her just as he had the previous nine times, and so did everyone else. "Jill says that, but she's got a weird habit of always ordering a pepperoni pizza," he told Blaise. "I don't know why."

"I still like it," Jill said with a shrug as Blaise raised an eyebrow at her. "My stomach just doesn't."

"The body rebelling against you," Blaise said, nodding solemnly. "How tragic."

At Harry's side, Draco snorted, but Jill only smiled. "Tell me about it."

"There's a tincture you can take for that stomach upset, you know," Blaise said.

"A tincture?"

"Potion."

"A… potion?"

"You're sounding ridiculously archaic, Blaise," Draco said before Harry could leap to smoothing the situation and Blaise's slip. "Just a medication, he means."

Jill glanced between them both, frowning slightly through her smile. "Right," she said slowly.

Blaise grinned widely, teeth flashing and eyes dancing. He had an infectious smile, Harry had noticed, which only enhanced what he'd also noticed was a considerably attractive face. Not that he quite suited Harry's tastes, but that didn't matter; his smile seemed to be reserved for Jill most of the day.

Or it was from what Harry had seen. It was certainly trained more often that evening than he'd glimpsed prior to his and Draco's slipping away to Diagon Alley. There seemed to have been some sort of exchange between them, much in the way that something had apparently happened between Jackie and Pansy given that they were sitting beside one another, too. Much as –

"You cold-hearted bastard. Keeping a secret like that then up and abandoning us."

Harry rolled his eyes at Jackie's simmering tone, turning back to his menu. "So, pizza, then?"

"I told you," Pansy said, _thunk_ ing her glass onto the table, "it's greasy _._ "

"So use a fork, Pansy," Draco said.

"I'm casting my vote for pepperoni," Blaise said.

"I can't eat pizza with a knife and fork, you imbecile."

"Do you like pepperoni pizza too?" Jill asked, cocking her head at Blaise. "It's the sauce, right? It tastes different for some reason."

"Definitely. It tastes better."

"We're not changing our decision because you have a problem with handling cutlery in unlikely circumstances."

"Oh, sod off. You're only deciding that because your boyfriend made a vague remark about his preferences."

"And? How is that a problem?"

"Boyfriend," Jackie muttered. "I can't believe it. Can't believe you didn't fucking tell me. _Me._ Dickhead."

Harry sighed, and for a moment drew his eyes to the ceiling in a silent bid for patience. Jackie wasn't really angry. He knew how she became in the throes of true anger. Most likely her nose was knocked out of joint because she hadn't noticed, hadn't realised, and hadn't been told, and that Jill had apparently picked up on the none-too-subtle signs that day before Harry and Draco had properly slipped away. That, and she was probably hungry. Jackie was insufferable when she was hungry.

"Could you just get over it already?" Harry muttered, more to himself than to Jackie and too quiet to be properly heard over the exchange between Jill and the Hogwarts students.

Not too quiet for Jackie, however. "I will-fucking-not. Asshole. I'm your best friend."

"Yeah, you are."

"And you didn't tell me."

"Can you blame me?"

Jackie's eyes narrowed further, leaving her Medusa-lookalike visage in the dust beneath the sheer malice of it. "I bloody well can. I tell you everything."

Harry frowned. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"Actually, you don't."

"Name the last time I –"

"You didn't tell me about your grandad's funeral literally a month ago until I specifically asked. I had to bloody well ask, Jackie."

Jackie's scowl adopted a momentarily guilty edge. "That's something entirely different."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "How do you figure? I get that you were dealing with it yourself and all, but you still didn't tell me. And what about summer last year when you said you were sick for a whole week when you really just stole a dog and wanted to stay home with it but knew it was wrong so didn't -"

"I didn't steal the dog, I found it."

"It had a bloody collar, Jackie. You stole it."

"That's not even on the same topic as your lie."

"Okay then, what about that girl you kissed last Easter? I only found out about it because your mum blabbed. Being embarrassed doesn't mean you shouldn't have told me too."

Jackie's chin jutted, her bottom lip pouting. None of her frustration had abated, but it was coupled with a breath of rationality now. She tightened her arms across her chest where they'd been folded since Harry and Draco had first returned to the museum. From her silence Harry knew he'd won this particular round, and he turned back to the discussion jumping between the rest of their friends.

He and Draco had rejoined their party on street side only half an hour ago. Darkness had fallen, the temperature seemed to have dropped by about a hundred degrees, and Harry was more than happy to abandon any thoughts of lingering at the Museum of Magical Arts. A night tucked into their hotel was a far more favourable prospect.

It was a quick stop to pick up those they'd left behind, and it didn't take much convincing to conclude the best possible outcome for the evening would be an in-house restaurant before proceeding into the warm depths of their rooms.

A relocation of Harry's car, another phone call to placate Lily, and they dove into The Grand Casa that didn't quite live up to its name. Simple, it was a little scuffed around the edges and lacked any kind of grandiosity that the advert had promised, but it was warm. Besides, it had an attached restaurant that boasted a decent menu; that fact alone made up for any simplicity of their suites.

Harry had felt increasingly guilt on their split-second journey from the Leaky Cauldron to the back street a few blocks from the museum. He'd savoured every moment in Draco's company from that afternoon and wouldn't have changed it for the world if he had the chance to do it all over again, but the guilt remained. It clung him enough that Draco apparently noticed.

"Don't worry about it," he'd said, brushing Harry's shoulder with his own. "Pansy would have known this was going to happen, so she'll smooth things over."

Harry had glanced down at where their hands hung side by side, knuckles occasionally brushing but no longer holding. He hadn't meant to let go of Draco's hand, but stepping out of Diagon Alley into easy sight of the Muggles that still hastened past one another into the dusk – it didn't feel right. He couldn't help but feel watched, as though anything and everything he did, every glance he cast Draco's way, stamped a sign on his forehead of 'head over heels' and 'hopelessly gay'.

It hadn't been a problem in Diagon Alley. The sharp contrast to the rest of London, however, made it that much harder to ignore. That much harder to pretend, and infinitely harder to enjoy.

Harry had only nodded at Draco's words, awash with a different kind of guilt directed at Draco himself this time. It wasn't fair to subject him to such distance. What was it called, mixed messaging? Draco came from a world where such things didn't matter. What if he took Harry's retreat the wrong way? What if he assumed the wrong thing? It didn't help that Harry knew Draco was already aware of his discomfort, that he knew why Harry couldn't quite bring himself to hold his hand in Muggle public. Each time they were together amidst that public the guilt arose once more.

Harry had always been proud of himself, never hiding his sexuality for fear of being spat at and looked down upon. But memories of his classmates approaching him, showering him with words and assumptions, and Draco standing just behind him as an unwilling and unwitting audience…

It was different when someone else was involved.

Harry was kicking himself only increasingly hard as he and Draco hastened to the cluster of their friends at the base of the museum steps. As he did, his internal reprimands took a back seat into sheepish embarrassment.

_Well, it wasn't quite how I was hoping to tell Jackie and Jill, but I guess it can't be helped._

Jill smiled, eyes bright even in the evening gloom and dimples flashing. Blaise grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Pansy huddled in her coat, cursing under her breath at the pedestrians that passed alongside them and huffing in a cloud of smoke and shook her head. And Jackie –

Jackie glared. Medusa really didn't hold a candle to her.

It was almost ironic how Jackie's annoyance served more to soothe Harry's guilt than exacerbate it. Somehow, being asked why they were "back already, you lovebirds?" and "I'd like to say I'm surprised, but… couldn't you have at least given us a heads up?" was less gruelling when Jackie's blatant annoyance contrasted so fiercely. By the time the pizzas arrived – steaming and nowhere near as greasy as Pizza Hut's, to Pansy's evident delight – Harry had returned to ignoring Jackie and Jackie to her glaring and seething mutters. He didn't even truly feel guilty anymore; it was hard to cling to in the face of such open acceptance from three-quarters of their group.

Night had well and truly fallen hours before given that they had only taken themselves into the restaurant as the clock eased past nine. According to Jill, it was because Blaise had a hitherto unrealised obsession with double-oh-seven and simply had to finish the motel-supplied movie _Golden Eye._ Harry knew better, and not only because Draco had whispered, "None of us have ever actually seen a real movie before except in Muggle Studies". To view the three of them as an ignorant outsider, sprawled across the minimal furnishings in one of their three rooms, Draco, Blaise, and Pansy were all wide-eyed converts to the Bond franchise.

Harry didn't mind. Piece Brosnan was good-looking enough that he could sideline their dinner plans for a time. Jill didn't appear to mind either, and Harry was surprised to find her enthusiastically teasing Blaise in his rapture. She smiled through his endless questions and answered most with "just wait and see" or "I'm pretty sure they'll work it out". She shared many a laughing glance with Harry, while Jackie –

Jackie glared. And grumbled. And slouched in her seat alongside Pansy where she'd deliberately placed herself as far from Harry as possible. Pansy's proximity seemed to distract her briefly, especially when Pansy began to whispering intermittently into her ear for the second half of the movie. Dinner, however, had her returning right back to her glaring.

Harry couldn't really blame her. He supposed he should have told her earlier – should have told both her and Jill – but it had never quite felt like the right time. How did anyone tell their friends that they've started dating someone who they'd all initially considered to be a bit of a tosser only a handful of months ago?

That, and Harry didn't want to jinx them. Somehow, admitting what he and Draco had was a real thing, that it was _something_ and could be _long-term_ felt too much like tempting fate into proving him wrong.

So Harry sat with Jackie's disgruntlement. He enjoyed his pizza and laughed as Blaise poked fun as Pansy using her knife and fork "like a real Italian". When Jill asked him where they'd been that afternoon, he and Draco replied with a watered down – and non-magical – explanation of exploring a certain outdoor mall across the city. When Draco drew him into murmured conversation about the movie, the mechanics, how there had really been explosions, and if they'd been actual guns, Harry laughed and attempted to explain special effects in a way that felt as watered down as their explanation to Jill had been. Given he knew little enough about filmography, it was a case of the blind leading the blind, but Draco's fascination was worth the attempt.

By the time chocolate-streaked bowls of dessert were taken away, Harry was comfortable. He was happy. He was full to bursting, relieved of any lingering guilt, and drifting into an easy pre-sleep lull.

"I can hardly keep my eyes open," Jill said as they filed from the restaurant, offering a nod of thanks to the waiters as they began to pack away.

"Already?" Blaise said, though he yawned a moment later. "Isn't it a requirement of high schoolers to stay up as late as possible?"

"Especially when on a trip," Jill said, nodding.

"We could watch another movie."

"I'll fall to sleep through it, but if you'd like."

"Don't we have to get up early tomorrow?" Pansy asked.

Blaise rolled his eyes at her reminder. "You're such a killjoy," he said, and ducked out of the way as Pansy swatted at him in reply.

Harry smiled as he wandered behind them alongside Draco, though he listened with only half an ear. They did have to leave early, and Pansy's reminder might have dampened the mood a little, but…

Glancing sidelong, he met Draco's returning glance as though he'd been the subject of his attention since they'd left the restaurant. Draco's closeness called to mind thoughts about leaving their brief trip behind, loading a dissatisfied heaviness in his belly alongside the pizza. It was enough that, when the climbed the stairs towards their rooms, he couldn't help but link his fingers with Draco's just enough to touch.

"I'm using the shower first," Pansy said as they stepped onto their floor. "Everyone else, make yourself scarce for half an hour."

Draco rolled his eyes, but any reply he might have made was overridden by Blaise. He was grinning again as he turned to Jill like an excitable puppy. "Maybe just the start of another movie, then?"

Jill shrugged, easy and compliant, and led the way to their room. It had already been discussed over the dinner table that they would share, though how it had come about Harry wasn't quite sure. He glanced at Jill, frowned a silent question to be sure she was comfortable with the arrangement, and had been offered a nod in reply.

"We talked about it before," she'd said, waving the question aside. "It's just two single beds anyway."

"And you're really fine with that?" Harry asked.

Jill waved that question aside too. "Blaise is harmless."

"Is he?"

"Harry. You think I have so little self-preservation after everything?"

She had him on that. Out of everyone, despite her gentleness, Jill had been through many a social battle and knew how to take kindness and amicability with a grain of salt. She knew only too well how others could treat people like herself, like Harry and Jackie, and she would never put herself in a situation that deliberately tempted such a risk. Harry could only concede to her decision. Where her receptiveness to Blaise's company had come from Harry didn't know, but when he considered it… he supposed that Jill had been smiling a lot that evening. Maybe he'd missed something, being so caught up in his own love story.

It left Harry in the unfamiliar role akin to a concerned but helpless brother. He wasn't even sure if he should be concerned as he watched Blaise follow Jill into their room, saw him playfully nudge her with an elbow with a whisper in her ear that elicited an outburst of laughter from her in return. He was so distracted watching the two of them that he startled slightly when Draco leant into him to murmur in his own ear.

"I'm just going to have a quick chat with Pansy," he said.

Harry glanced up at him. "Didn't she kick you out of your room for half an hour?"

Draco snorted. "She says that, but she knows neither Blaise nor I will actually abide by her restrictions. Besides," he swept a hand through his hair with a sigh, "I just wanted to talk to her for a minute or two. About the posters."

Harry's mind immediately leapt back to the image of Draco's aunt, the screaming, crazed woman, and the sobriety of Draco's gaze as he'd stared at it. He nodded, squeezing Draco's fingers briefly. "You okay?"

Draco nodded shortly. "She should just know. There was another poster…"

He trailed off, but it didn't take much guesswork for Harry to join the dots. Oh. So Pansy had someone too. That was… unexpected. Or maybe it wasn't. Harry didn't know but didn't comment or ask further.

He watched, chewing on the inside of his lip, as Draco strode down the hallway towards the room Pansy had disappeared into. Draco had seemed to recover from his bout of melancholy since they'd left Diagon Alley, had very deliberately swept the subject aside, but maybe it worried him more than he'd let on. Was he saddened by what he'd seen? Angry? He hadn't appeared to hold any affection for the woman Bellatrix Lestrange, but maybe Harry was wrong. Maybe he'd misinterpreted and Draco was actually rattled.

He was still considering, turning over the possibility and what he could do about it, when a sharp finger flicked his temple. Jolted from his distraction, he frowned at Jackie where she'd planted herself alongside him, only to sigh in defeat a moment later.

The Talk. It was always going to happen eventually.

At least Jackie wasn't glaring anymore. Apparently dinner really had helped to disperse her foul mood a little. Her arms were folded across her chest once more, however, and her eyebrows lowered. She regarded him shrewdly, like a school teacher with a particularly unruly child that she was contemplating sending to the principal's office. Except that Harry doubted any principal was capable of dishing out a punishment quite like what Jackie could manage.

Finally, just as Harry opened his mouth to say something, anything, she spoke. "How long's it been?"

Harry snapped his jaw shut. He pressed his lips together. He considered, chewed over the truth, then admitted, "A while."

"How long is a while?"

"A few weeks. Maybe a bit longer." He was skirting around the truth, if only a little. He knew exactly how long it had been, almost to the minute.

"Weeks?" Jackie's tone made Harry cringe a little. Jackie's words weren't angry but hurt. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sighing, Harry's shoulders slumped. "It's not like I actually wanted to hide anything from you. It just happened."

"That's a bullshit answer, Harry, and you know it."

"Yeah, I know."

"Then why -?"

"Because." Harry frowned down at the floor between then, the thin carpet faded from what could have once been purple. "Just – because."

"That's a bullshit answer as well, so tell me why -"

"Because I'm scared, alright?"

Jackie's mouth slowly closed. Harry saw only from his periphery, but he knew her frown lifted, too. For a long moment, silence hung between them. When Jackie did finally speak, her tone was low and almost threatening. "Of him?"

Harry almost laughed. Not a threat to Harry himself. Never to Harry. So quickly Jackie could shift from resentment to protectiveness. He might feel increasingly like Jill's stupefied little brother, but Jackie was certainly more like his elder sister. She always had been.

Glancing up at her, Harry shook his head firmly. "No. Not at all. Never have been."

Jackie nodded. Her face cleared. "Good. Because otherwise I'd have to tear him a new one."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Though you're still a shithead."

"I can feel the love, even if you don't admit to it."

Jackie smirked. Just like that, her frustration cleared, and she was back to being the loud, slightly abrasive, but entirely affectionate friend he'd had for years. It hadn't even taken a proper explanation, because Harry knew she didn't need it. She would likely understand better than anyone what he meant by 'scared'. Jackie wore a hard armour in the form of a sharp tongue and blatant confidence, but it was as much to protect the soft pieces underneath as it was a natural part of her personality. She'd been burned by harsh words, too.

"Have you told Lily and James yet?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, but they kind of guessed."

"Ha. They saw through your bullshit. Sirius and Remy?"

"Yeah, they know."

"Have they met him?"

Harry cringed for a different reason this time. "Fuck, no. God, I don't even – I have no idea how I'm gonna –"

Jackie grinned wolfishly. "Can I be there for it? It'll be fantastic. I should bring a camera."

"In that case, no."

"Oh, come on."

"Fuck off to you, too."

Jackie laughed, shaking her head. "Whatever. You'll mould like putty with a bit of work."

"Nothing," Harry enunciated deliberately, "will get me to change my mind on this one."

"Really?" Jackie arched an eyebrow and produced a key and stunted chain with a flourish, holding it aloft. "Not even if I give you this."

Harry blinked. "What is that?"

"The key to Draco and Pansy's room."

"… what?"

"You and me are swapping." Jackie's smirk was far too satisfied as she jangled the key in Harry's face. "Pansy and me already talked about it."

"Wha -? When?"

"During the movie before dinner."

"You –"

"I know. Subtle, weren't we?"

Harry's choked upon his words. He stared at the key, at Jackie, and wasn't sure what he was more unnerved by: that she'd already decided to swap prior to dinner, or that she was apparently okay with it. With all of it. That Pansy was okay with it, too. What was going on with the world?

"Seriously?" he managed.

Jackie's smirk drew wide. "Seriously," she said. "On the proviso that, if you do actually lose your virginity, you have to tell me all about it."

"Jackie!"

"In detail." She flung the key at him before he could stutter further. "Have fun. Be safe. Shag him hard. All that jazz." Then she flounced past him with far more zest than he'd ever seen of her and all but danced into the room along Jill and Blaise's footsteps.

Harry was left behind, alone and stunned in the empty hallway. Slowly lowering his gaze to the key in his hand, he shook his head. The trip had certainly taken an unexpected bend, and it was far from over yet.

It was dark in the room. Dark and quiet, and cosily warm despite the veritable blizzard that a shrill wind beyond the window promised waged war outside.

But Harry couldn't sleep. He didn't think he'd felt less like sleeping in his entire life.

* * *

The room was dark because he and Draco had made the decision to turn in after an awkward half an hour of fumbling around a shared trom – or at least Harry had been fumbling. It was quiet because it was nearly another half an hour since they'd turned off the lights and Harry thought that was probably enough time for Draco to fall to sleep. He couldn't be sure, though, and was almost too afraid to check. And cosy?

Well, it was warm, certainly, but Harry wasn't sure whether that warmth came from the perpetual flush that seemed to have settled upon his skin.

Harry didn't know what he was doing. He didn't know what he'd hoped would happen after the humiliating exchange with Jackie and his own admission to Draco that yes, they were sharing rooms, and would he have a problem with that? Draco assured him that he didn't, had even smiled and shrugged, had said Pansy had already told him, and led the way into their room as though it were the most natural thing to do in the world. Harry had only just managed to avoid stumbling over his own feet as he'd followed.

Were they supposed to spend the night talking? Touching? Kissing and… and more than that? Was Jackie's suggestion that they'd really go there, that they'd really have sex, a justified one? Was that what people did when they found themselves with their boyfriends in the privacy of a simple but clean motel, walls thick enough to be soundproof? Harry had fantasised throughout the majority of his teenage life about what he could do, what he _would_ do, when he had a boyfriend in such circumstances, but in reality…

Harry abruptly realised he hadn't the foggiest idea of how to get from A to B, or even if Draco wanted to get to B at all. If Harry himself would be up for it or if he would – if he would just –

Closing his eyes, squeezing them briefly and tightly enough that sparks danced across the inside of his eyelids, Harry drew a deep breath. He released it in an open-mouthed huff, quiet enough that even if Draco had still been awake he wouldn't have heard. He shifted beneath his blankets before rolling, turning in the direction of Draco's bed. He tucked an arm under his pillow. He shuffled his legs, huddled a little, and released another sigh.

No sleep tonight. Definitely not.

It was dark in the room. Warm. Too dark and too warm. Even if he'd still worn his glasses, Harry didn't think he'd be able to make out the bed lying two feet from his own. That didn't mean that he couldn't stare though.

Staring.

And listening.

And struggling to enfold himself into sleep that wouldn't come because thoughts of Draco, and himself, and of them together battered at him in a myriad of confusing, muddled images that had him even more hot and bothered, even more awake than he'd been before.

There would definitely be no sleep tonight.

Every tick of the clock across the room was jarringly loud. Every snap of the wind was like a punch of the window. Hypervigilance wasn't intentional but it was a god-awful thing to shake. That attentiveness was exactly the reason why Harry realised the moment that Draco rolled over in a motion far to deliberate to be sleep-laden.

There was no question between them. Not aloud, but it was somehow asked anyway.

Harry felt as Draco flipped the duvet back from Harry's bed. He felt when he slipped beneath the sheets, the springs of the mattress protesting slightly and the weight of him impressed at Harry's side. He flinched just a little as one of Draco's legs brushed against his own. Flinched, then shivered as a tremor tingled across every surface of his skin.

 _I don't know what the fuck I'm doing,_ he thought. It was the only intelligible one that passed through his head.

"You're still awake?"

It was a question but redundant. Draco's voice was low, little more than a whisper, and Harry shivered again. His boyfriend. Here. In the same bed as him. It seemed such an impossibility, despite that they'd been dating for weeks.

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "I take it you're not just sleep walking?"

Draco's snort was muffled into a sharp exhalation. "No. It's deliberate." He paused, shifting alongside Harry. The silence was heavy with Harry's own expectation before he continued. "Are you okay?"

Swallowing thickly, Harry drew a deep breath that he hoped to God Draco didn't notice and shuffled across the narrow bed towards him. A minute shuffle, then a little further as Draco's toes brushed his ankle again. Huddled on his side, wide-eyed yet unable to see much of anything through the darkness but the slightly paler smear of Draco's face in the shadows, Harry nodded against his pillow.

"I'm…" He swallowed again, his words almost a croak. "Yeah. You?"

A breath of exhalation that felt like a laugh as it brushed Harry's cheek fluttered across the distance between them. "Am I okay?"

"Mm," Harry hummed.

"Should I not be?"

"I don't know. Is it awkward?"

"That I'm lying in bed with my boyfriend?"

Another shiver. It didn't feel nearly so discomforting this time, and though a twist feeling still coiled Harry's gut, the thoughts _is this alright?_ And _am I doing something wrong?_ a niggling concern, it felt good. The kind of good that breaking rules did, even though Harry new there'd been no such breakages.

Draco's toes touched his once more, less an accidental nudge and more deliberately stroking. That he in turn inched across the bed a little closer to Harry until Harry thought he might almost be able to make his features out through the darkness and the blurriness of his vision. How his hand, invisible beneath the blankets, slipped around Harry's and linked their fingers.

Harry wanted this. He wanted to lie beside Draco, to touch him, to kiss him more than just about anything at that moment. The only problem was – well, his nerves, for one, but also everything else. That this was a _boy_ in bed with him, and that some people had opinions about that, bad opinions, and they would think them of Harry – worse, of Draco – and they might… they might act on those opinions and…

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. _Stop it,_ he scolded himself. _Bloody hell, you've been out of the closet for years now. Why is it a problem now_?

Harry didn't know, but it was. A stupid fucking problem, because in spite of everything he, Jackie, and Jill all declared at school, despite everything they retorted to the arseholes that were Jacob and his groupies, it still felt like he was doing something wrong. Breaking some rule. The heavy feeling of unease that plagued Harry every time he stepped outside with Draco, prodding him whenever he felt the urge to take Draco's hand in public or forced him to smother the urge to reach for and kiss him, properly manifested into depressing understanding.

 _Why is it that I'm lying in a bed with my boyfriend and I can't feel anything but terrified that someone might think I'm doing the wrong thing?_ Stupid internalised homophobia. Jackie had told Harry all about that in many a tirade, though Harry hadn't realised that it applied to himself as much as anyone else.

A finger touched his cheek, and Harry twitched before tipping his head into the coolness of Draco's hand. Blinking his eyes open, he stared at the pale oval of Draco's face before raising his free hand and resting it over Draco's.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I don't mean to, I – sorry."

"What are you apologising for?" Draco asked, voice soft with an understanding that, when he'd first met him, Harry would never have thought possible of him. "Is something wrong? You've been uncomfortable ever since we stepped into the room. I can move to the other bed if you want me to."

"No." Harry pressed Draco's hand more firmly against his cheek. "No, I – no. It's stupid, Draco. I'm stupid, I –"

"You're not stupid."

"Yes, I am." With another deep breath, Harry shuffled across the remaining distance between them. He didn't let himself hesitate but instead unlinked his fingers from those Draco still held beneath the sheets and managed to slide his arm around his waist instead. "I really am. It's just everything seems to feel kind of… strange. I don't know why it's somehow okay to walk with you, and hold your hand, and kiss you when we were in Diagon Alley but now it's – it's so much more…"

"More?"

How could Draco be so gentle? He had proved that he could be understanding and lenient – at least when it came to Harry – but Harry still hadn't expected it of him. He still hadn't thought it was possible for Draco to wait with such patience and sincerity as Harry fumbled through the torrential downpour of confusion that afflicted him the moment Jackie had suggested they switch rooms with one another. Or before that, even. Harry had been forcing Draco to jump through hoops for him ever since they'd gotten together, going slow and sometimes stopping entirely because he was a wizard, from a wizard's world, and in that world people apparently weren't afflicted with the same inhibitions Harry struggled with.

Draco was a prat, wasn't he? Or had been. He'd been stuck up, and arrogant, and – hell, he'd hated Muggles, and though Harry wasn't really a Muggle, he was still – he'd still –

Pressing his face into Draco's shoulder, Harry exhaled harshly. Draco's skin was warm against his forehead, and though Harry felt himself tense with an awkwardness that hadn't afflicted him since they'd first started dating, it felt good. Nice.

"It's just weirdly hard," he managed, the muffling of his voice making it easier to force the words out. "I know I shouldn't care. I know it shouldn't be anyone else's business what we do together, and I don't want to care. I mean, I make a point of not caring at school any everything. Mum and Dad are cool with me being gay, and having a boyfriend, and – and my uncles Sirius and Remus have been a couple for years, so why…?"

Draco tipped his head against Harry's, and Harry felt the flutter of his breath against his temple. His arm slipped around Harry's back in much the same way that Harry held him in turn, though where Harry felt like he was clutching a lifeline, Draco's hold was gently firm.

"I guess if we're brought up a certain way," Draco murmured, "it's hard to change your way of thinking even if you know what's right."

Harry turned his face slightly to peer up at Draco's. He still couldn't see it, but it didn't feel like it mattered. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Harry felt the hitch of Draco's swallow more than he heard it, "that what you're going through, and your struggle? I could be constituted the same in my prejudice, only in a different area."

For a moment Harry hadn't the foggiest idea what Draco was talking about. Then understanding dawned. "Draco, that's different."

"Pureblood prejudice against Muggles is different to Muggle prejudice against gays?"

"Yes, it's –" Harry paused, pursed his lips, then tucked his face back into Draco's shoulder. "It's not quite the same."

"How so?"

"Well, if you take it from your situation, you're not a Muggle yourself, so hating yourself is…"

"You hate yourself?"

Teeth sinking into his lip, Harry held his tongue. It wasn't that he hated himself necessarily, and he'd stood tall and proud for years, defiant in the face of name-calling and outright aggression. It was horrible, somehow humiliating, to realise that, when faced with acting upon what he stood for, Harry crumbled. Self-hatred might be a bit of a strong term, but it felt a little bit like it sometimes.

Draco seemed to hear his thoughts despite Harry's silence. He sighed, tipping his head again slightly so that it rested against Harry's. It was unexpectedly affectionate – another unexpectedness that Harry probably should have anticipated the Draco he now knew. Draco definitely wasn't the prat he'd first thought he was.

"Don't push yourself," he said, his words almost lost in Harry's hair. "If you want me to leave then I'll move, but I'm happy to just lie like this. I'm not asking for anything, you know. I don't want to share a bed with you just to fool around."

Tightness grasped Harry's throat, and he couldn't even swallow through it this time. He almost whimpered at the combined assault of relief and regret. It wasn't what he wanted but it also kind of was. It wasn't that he didn't want to 'fool around' as Draco put it, and the warmth in his belly and between his legs, was telling enough of that, but he was also terrified of the prospect. Lying next to Draco, touching him, holding him, was such an opportunity that it practically felt like a crime to waste it.

"I want to," Harry croaked, pressing himself a little closer to Draco even as he hoped that Draco wouldn't get the wrong impression. "With you, I do. It's just…"

Draco didn't assume. He didn't get the wrong impression at all. How he didn't, Harry didn't know, but somehow he seemed to understand. Hooking a foot around Harry's ankle, his longer legs wrapped around and overlapped Harry's just a little. He resettled his arms around Harry, holding him a little more tightly against him, and the sigh of his breath against Harry's head wasn't one filled with regret. It was content. A little sleepy. Satisfied.

Harry wasn't satisfied. He regretted. He certainly wasn't sleepy. And yet, despite that, and despite the craziness of the day – the long drive, the dubious museum, the excitement of Diagon Alley, and the necessary but reluctant coming-out to their friends – Harry felt calmer. He hated that he needed to, but for now, he would wait. He _could_ wait, and Draco was okay with that.

He closed his eyes, head against Draco's shoulder, and held him with every hope that his gratitude might somehow be conveyed. He didn't sleep, but it wasn't such a bad thing anymore.

Morning came too soon. Breakfast passed too quickly.

Eyes were scrubbed, stares were bleary, and Harry wasn't the only one to fall prey to jaw-cracking yawns. When they filed out of the hotel into the grey wanness of a late dawn, the trudging of footsteps bespoke sleeplessness in more rooms than his own.

Too fast, too short, and too much regret. If Harry had learnt anything from the night before, it was that he really didn't like the feeling of holding himself back. Not when he didn't need to.

So, in the bleary chill of the winter morning, as murmured exchanges passed between his friends, directions given towards where the car was parked, and promises of catching up at school in a few days were made, Harry stood at Draco's side. He dawdled, if only to spend just a minute or two more in Draco's company. He brushed Draco's shoulder with his own, felt the warmth of his presence, shared many a glance that seemed to speak words of "I'm sorry" and "I wish I'd changed it". The wordless replies – "don't apologise" and "I'm happy to wait" – soothed as much as they ached.

Something had changed the night before. Something big, warm, and a little desperate. Though Harry couldn't put a name to it, he clung to that change with trembling, grasping hands.

There weren't many people idling along the road outside their hotel, even if the road was already thickening with traffic. However, when Jackie, leading the way towards the car with striding steps, turned and called towards them, he couldn't help but flinch.

"Come on, lovebirds. Keep up!"

"Sorry," Harry murmured, sharing another glance with Draco. "She shouldn't say shit like that."

Draco's frown was barely perceivable. "Why?"

Harry shrugged awkwardly. "I don't want to make things uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable? For you or for me?"

"For you." Harry snorted, shaking his head. "I might be an awkward mess but getting side-eyed for being gay isn't exactly unusual for me. But for you, with where you come from and everyone being okay with it –"

"I don't care." Draco nudged his shoulder against Harry's. "Really, Harry, I don't. It doesn't concern me."

"You can say that because you haven't had shit dumped on you. It's not a great feeling, trust me."

Draco paused in step, and Harry stopped alongside him. When he glanced up at him again, Draco's face was a smooth mask of hooded eyes and tight jaw. Harry knew him well enough to guess what he would say before he spoke.

"The fact that you have is wrong," Draco said icily. "But as for myself? I've received my fair share of hatred for other reasons, Harry. This is nothing. I don't care what other people think, and certainly not a handful of anonymous strangers who I'll likely never see again. What do they know about us? Why should I care?"

Something in Harry's chest squeezed. He swallowed thickly. When Jackie called again, followed by a similar demand from Blaise, he barely heard them. Standing beside Draco, meeting him eye to eye, it was as though any semblance of hesitancy had been stripped from him and torn to shreds.

Harry was cupping Draco's face in his hands and kissing him before he'd made the conscious decision to do so. Eyes closed, blotting out the world and any eyes or ears or thoughts, he swept aside anything and everything that wasn't Draco and felt him. Just _him._

Warm breath.

Soft lips.

The touch of fingers residually warm from the hotel as they curled around the back of Harry's neck in return.

Why had it taken Harry so long to understand that it didn't matter? That he shouldn't care? That it might be hard, but he'd bloody well keep at it because he wanted _this_ , it was _his_ , and the rest of the world and their opinions could be damned.

Someone – likely Jackie or Blaise again – wolf-whistled, and it was enough to break Harry from his abandon. Pulling away hesitantly, drawing a shaky breath that he released in a puff of white air, his eyes caught briefly on the slick wetness of Draco's lips before flicking up to his eyes.

Draco blinked. He smiled, so small and so close that it felt just for Harry, like no one else in the world could see it. "Thank you," he said, and Harry almost laughed.

"No, thank you," he said. "Thank you for being so good to me."

"You say that like it's unexpected."

"Maybe because it is."

"It shouldn't be."

Harry shrugged. He dropped a hand to where Draco's hung between them and linked their fingers. A flicker of something – _don't, it's risky, you shouldn't call yourself out_ – passed briefly through his mind, but he shoved it aside. If anyone had a problem with it, they could get fucked. Besides, he had a magical boyfriend. What could anyone possibly even do?

"I don't care," he said. Then again, just for emphasis, "I really don't. I just want to be with you."

He couldn't quite raise his gaze from their intertwined fingers, but it didn't matter, because the gentle squeeze of Draco's hand, the brush of his lips as they passed briefly over Harry's forehead, spoke for him. The comfort of than handhold for the rest of their short walk to the car made up for any words that went unsaid.


	12. Chapter 12

"Shit! Goddammit!"

"Harry James Evans, what have I told you about swearing?"

Hauling himself up from the bottom of the stairwell, his near disastrous fall a product of speed rather than his usual sightlessness, Harry spared a glance for the kitchen doorway. Lily hadn't emerged to reprimand him with a frown as well as words, but he could feel her disapproval nonetheless.

"That cursing is for magic spells, not imprecations?" he replied.

A beat of silence met his words, then James broke into laughter. "Very good, Bambi," he said through chuckles.

"James, don't encourage him," Lily said.

"I'm not encouraging but recognising wit when I see it."

"You're encouraging."

"Yeah, James, you're encouraging," Harry said, dropping down onto his haunches at the bottom of the stairs to tie his shoelaces. "You're a bad influence."

"Hey, if anyone's a bad influence, it's you on me."

"How do you figure? You raised me."

"You practically raised yourself."

"What does that make me, then?" Lily asked. Glancing up, Harry saw her in the doorway, arms folded and frowning as anticipated but in the way that said it was really closer to a smile.

"You stop us from making decisions bad enough that we'll wind up killed," Harry said.

"Which you've mostly managed," James added.

Lily raised an eyebrow, shooting it in the direction of the table out of sight. "Mostly?"

Harry smiled as James fumbled through unnecessary gratitude and platitudes, assurances that "yes, dear, you're wonderful" and "yes, I'm a terrible influence". Shaking his head, he tugged the last knot of his laces and straightened, slinging his bag from its seat beside the doorway as he did so.

"I'm off," he said, breaking into James' assurances.

James paused and Lily turned towards him. "So early?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm going to run to school."

"You haven't had breakfast."

"I'm fine."

"Harry –"

"Mum," Harry said, already starting for the door. He paused alongside her, dropping a quick kiss on her cheek. "I'm fine. Seriously, I'll grab something from the canteen if I'm hungry."

"You're in a very chipper mood," James said. A glance his way found him rocking on his chair, arm slung over the back, and eyeing Harry curiously. "Are you actually excited for your holidays to be over?"

"It's not that uncommon to look forward to going to school," Lily reasoned.

James made a face. "You're definitely turning into your mother's son, then, Harry."

"Better than being my father's hapless get," Harry said with a wink, sharing a grin with Lily before started back towards the door.

"Hapless get? Who've you been talking to that you're using such bullshit words?"

 _Who indeed?_ Harry smothered a private smile for himself. It wasn't any mystery to him, though it was a little strange to think he might be adopting Draco's turn-a-phrase. Draco always did have a particularly proper way of speaking. Maybe it was because he was a pureblood, or from an old family, or a wizard, or maybe all three, but it didn't annoy Harry anywhere near as much as it used to. If anything, he thought it was kind of hot.

How things changed when looking through different lenses.

"I'm off," he said over his shoulder. "See you later."

"Sirius said he'll pick you up again today," James called after him.

"Cheers!" Harry replied, and then he was through the front door. Running, vaulting over the fence, and speeding down the pavement with eager steps, he flew in the direction of his school almost before the door slammed closed behind him.

It was cold, but Harry's enthusiasm staved off the chill. The breeze was icy and crisp, but it seemed to coax him on rather than hold him back. It had been less than a week since he'd travelled to London to see the museum and a little over a day since he'd last seen Draco, but the hours seemed so much longer than they should have. It wasn't Draco's fault that he couldn't visit the previous evening as he so often did, and not because their pretence of studying had been discovered. Harry didn't bother to feign studiousness as he ducked out the door every night.

"No boyfriend tonight?" James had asked the previous evening.

It was a question – or the opposite of the question – that he'd taken to asking every night of late. The kind of question accompanied by a quivering smirk and a sideway glance as a quietly smiling Lily. It wasn't even as embarrassing as it used to be – though still managed to be just a little bit for the fact that it was Harry's parents who asked.

Shrugging, stabbing at the mash of his dinner, Harry shook his head. "No, he's got a family thing on."

"A family thing?" Another glance between James and Lily, the smiles fading this time. "And he didn't invite you?"

"James," Lily said sharply.

Harry glared at his father before dropping his gaze back to his barely-touched dinner. "We're so not ready for that yet, so screw you."

It was a sign of Lily's understanding and gentle consideration that she didn't pull him up on his muttered resentment. If anything, her frown and the audible kick under the table was reserved for James.

It wasn't that Harry was disheartened that Draco couldn't visit. It was unrealistic to assume they could manage every day, and he was all too aware that it was always Draco that had to make the trip to see him. It didn't matter that Apparition made the journey instantaneous. They shared the two-way mirror for just such mixed opportunities, a device that left something as simple as a phone call in its dust. Harry promptly found himself sprawled on his bed moments after he'd slipped from the dining table with a murmured thanks and excuses of school work.

"How'd it go tonight?" he asked as Draco's beautiful and far-too-missed face appeared to replace the shiny reflection of his own.

Harry had rarely thought of anyone as beautiful before – or at least no one that wasn't viewed only through a television screen, or on the cover of a magazine glaringly airbrushed. But to his eyes, Draco seemed to grow only more attractive the more he looked at him. He found himself simply staring sometimes and realising that he loved the darkness of his eyes, the curve of his lips, the exact hue of his white-blond hair and how it was always styled just so. That, and he had a killer jawline. And his shoulders were perfectly wide but not too wide. And maybe he'd stared too long at his arse to be considered appropriate at school but...

Harry spent far too long thinking about Draco's hands and his long fingers that he'd held in his own time and again. Even then, when he was far more interested in learning what drove the solemnity of Draco's expression on the other side of the mirror, he couldn't help but appreciate.

Draco's lips thinned. "It was excruciating, if I'm honest. I haven't seen my aunt in far too long, and she and my mother have never been amicable."

Harry winced. "How awkward."

"Definitely."

"I thought you said you didn't mind your Aunt Andromeda."

Draco gave a tight shrug. "I don't. She's always been good to me, or at least she has been since I've actually been allowed to see her. She's always resented my father, though, blaming him for getting my mother caught up in the wrong side of a war."

Harry winced again. Family politics weren't something he had much experience with; James' side of the family was practically non-existent, with his grandparents retreating back to his grandfather's motherland when he was only a kid and rarely visiting since, though when they did it was always affable. Lily's family was a little less appealing, and Harry hadn't seen the Dursleys in years. They'd never gotten along, and when his Uncle Vernon had almost popped a vein at learning of Harry's coming out, it had been the final straw for Lily. Vernon had always been a bigoted ass, and Lily admitted that her sister wasn't much better these days, to say nothing of their son Dudley.

But even that held barely a candle to the bonfire of Draco's family discord. How did anyone handle the kind of tension left behind by a magical war?

"Did she stay for long?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "Dinner and a brief discussion afterwards. I don't know who was more eager for them to leave: my uncle Edward or my father, though my cousin seemed to be straining on a leash that was the only reason she didn't flee before dessert."

"Did you -?" Harry cut himself off, bit his lip and glanced away from the mirror. He wasn't sure if he should even ask, but…

"We did," Draco said, answering his unspoken question. "Bellatrix was about all that was spoken of. Honestly, it's as though we're discussing her first escape from prison all over again. She's such… an ominous presence. Always has been. I wouldn't have put it past her to escape a second time." He sighed. "An unsavoury dinnertime conversation if ever I've heard one."

Harry couldn't even imagine what it must be like to have such a horror for a relative. He'd thought his uncle Vernon was bad. He nodded regardless. "That would have been so awkward."

"Unbelievably awkward," Draco said.

"Are you okay?"

At that, Draco's expression shifted. He didn't smile, and the solemnity didn't leave him, but it retreated just a little. "I am. Thank you."

When Draco spoke, the gratitude carried a distinct weight that Harry didn't hear from many people. He wondered if that was part of being a pureblood – or from an old family or being a wizard – too. He was smiling before he could help himself, fighting the urge to hold the two-way mirror just a little bit closer, and made the deliberate attempt to change the subject.

"So, my Uncle Remy guilt-tripped me into helping him out at the library's New Year's Fest today…"

Running to school, his breath fogging with every gasp and the morning light a miserable reminder of just how slow the sun was to rise in winter, Harry left any and all sorry thoughts of the previous night behind him. He couldn't pretend to understand what it was like to experience what Draco had been through, what he was still going through. But he would do his best to be the kind of boyfriend who made a bad situation just a little bit better.

Because he was. He was Draco's boyfriend, and Draco was his. Harry had decided he didn't care who in the world knew it because so long as Draco was okay with it, he'd readily shout it to the world just to revel in the truth of it. If nothing else, the past week had ground decisiveness into him.

It was early when Harry left home, early when he ran to school, and still early when he drew to a puffing stop before the front gates. Huddling into his coat, looping his scarf a little tighter around his neck at the anticipated onset of chill, he took himself to the half-wall just alongside, clambered on top of it, and settled himself to wait.

It didn't take long. The Hogwarts students arrived with the promptness that Draco had told Harry was characteristic of their deputy headmistress. Still, as the minutes ticked towards the hour, the cold setting in and Harry's legs swinging in irrepressible energy, he found himself cursing that Professor McGonagall wasn't just a little more prompt in her earliness.

"What're you doing here at the crack of dawn?"

The voice came from behind him, and Harry turned from where he'd been distractedly watching the slow trickle of equally early students, feet dragging with the rapid retreat of holiday bliss. Jackie, wrapped in far too few layers for the weather, appeared as if from nowhere and used the advantage of her long legs to all but step up onto the wall at his side.

" _I'm_ early?" Harry asked. "You're the one who has to get dropped to school every other day because you oversleep. I know who the unusual one of us is."

Jackie sniffed, plucking at a loose thread of her fingerless gloves. "Whatever. I have incentive now."

"Incentive? Really? What kind, exactly?"

"Fuck off."

Harry grinned, even as he huddled further into the folds of his scarf from a blast of chilling wind that tore down the nearly empty road. "You were going to write her a letter, right?"

Jackie eyed him flatly but didn't reply.

"Did she get back to you?"

"So bloody nosy," Jackie muttered.

Harry punched her shoulder lightly. "You're a fine one to talk. Can we revisit you getting your knickers in a knot just the other day over me and Draco?"

"Yeah, but I got over it. And I'm not prying anymore."

"Oh, so the constant 'did you really not have sex' questions aren't classified as prying in your opinion?"

"That's different. I have a right to know if my best friend's had his cherry popped."

"No, you don't, actually. You really don't." In spite of himself, and the flush of embarrassment accompanying any mention of popping cherries, Harry smiled. Jackie's deflection wasn't fooling him in the least. "You asked her out, didn't you?"

Jackie shifted awkwardly, returning to fiddling with her gloves.

"Well? What did she say?" Harry glanced briefly up at Jackie's hair, the dark green intensified with what was evidently a renewed wash. "I can't help but notice you've got a pretty obvious trend with your hair-dyeing these days. It's been green for months. Is this an answer?"

Jackie still didn't reply, though she ceased playing with her gloves to fuss with her hair instead. Harry waited, silent, and was rewarded for his efforts when Jackie's lips finally cracked into a smile.

"She did?" When Jackie's smile became a delighted grin, Harry punched Jackie's shoulder again before looping an arm around her neck. "Bloody hell, seriously? That's brilliant!"

"I know, right?" Jackie practically preened as she returned Harry's delighted embrace with an almost desperate intensity. "I practically shit myself for the two days I was waiting for a reply, but she actually said yes. Harry, I'm going to go on a date with Pansy-sodding-Parkinson."

Harry laughed. His agitation from waiting might not have abated, but how often did anyone get to see their best friend finally ask the object of their affections on a date? Even more rarely that it actually amounted to something.

"I'm so happy for you," he said. "Even if she is still a bitch."

"Hey, Draco's a bitch, too, you know," Jackie said, squeezing him slightly.

"Oh, I know. But I still like him."

"Yeah, and I happen to like a bitchy Pansy. It's what makes her unique."

"Unique?"

"Special."

"You're so whipped."

"Speak for yourself."

Harry could. He did on frequent occasion, too. Which was why, when he caught a glimpse of a familiar crowd of approaching students over Jackie's shoulder, he couldn't be blamed for all but throwing her aside as he launched himself from the wall.

"Oi!" Jackie squawked, but Harry barely heard her.

Jogging down the street with a repressed urge to sprint, he offered a smile and a nod to McGonagall at the head of the procession, stalking through in her thick, heavy skirts. "Good morning, Professor," he said. "I hope you had a nice Christmas."

McGonagall blinked, paused mid-step for a split second, before inclining her head. "Mr. Evans. Very well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Yeah, good." Glancing to the professor's side, Harry spared a smile for where Hermione stood, turning from a discussion she appeared to be having with a handful of her friends. With another nod for the professor, he stepped aside to allow her to pass.

"Hey, Hermione," he said as, while the rest of her classmates flowed past her, Hermione paused alongside him. Glancing over her shoulder distractedly, he offered a cursory, "How are you?"

"Good, thanks, Harry." She beamed. "Happy New Years."

"Yeah, you too."

"Morning, mate," Ron said, appearing at Hermione's side. "Have a good Christmas?"

Harry smiled. "Pretty good. Better than school."

"Tell me about it." Ron rolled his eyes, though shot Hermione a fond glance in the same motion. "Though some people probably disagree."

"I'm not entirely incapable of enjoying a holiday, Ron," Hermione said, planting her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, but your version of enjoyment is doing extra study courses."

"Well, yes, because they're fun. And interesting."

"How is doing maths over your Christmas break fun?"

"Because, Ron, mental stimulation and challenging oneself is the best of things…"

She continued, Harry knew, but he stopped listening to her as the bulk of the Hogwarts students drifted passed them. He caught sight Draco at the back with the rest of his green-tied classmates, already looking in his direction, and the warmth that flooded through him all but erased the coldness of the day. He didn't even know what excuse he gave to Ron and Hermione as he darted away from them; it was far more important to simply be _there_ than _here_.

Draco broke away from his friends at the same moment, meeting him halfway. Harry wasn't sure who reached for who first, but he found himself with his hand in Draco's, the weight of his closeness a radiating warmth against the chilly morning, and press of his lips against his own chasing away the unpleasantness of a day apart. Was it only a day? Really only one day? It felt like far longer.

There was a moment, as he'd known there would be, when something reared in him and protested. When the reminder that he was at school, that people would see, that something would happen or someone would do something _bad_ welled within him. But it was less of a struggle than it had been only a week before to shove the thought aside. Almost easy to focus more on the warmth of Draco's fingers, his gaze, and the tight, clenching feeling in Harry's gut that he'd always gotten with Draco but seemed all the more significant these days.

"Hey," Harry murmured against Draco's lips as they drew a hair's breadth apart.

"Hi," Draco murmured in reply.

"How're you holding up? You okay?"

"I am. Certainly better now, though."

Harry grinned. "Sap."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "Are you somehow assuming I'm referring to your company as the reason I'm feeling better?" When Harry eyed him pointedly, he shrugged expansively. "Because you'd be absolutely right."

Harry's laugh was cut short when Draco captured his lips once more, and any urge to withdraw, to duck away from him and cast a glance over his shoulder just in case, was lost to the glorious softness of his kiss, the taste of his breath and its shivering warmth as he drew away slightly before dropping another kiss.

"I suppose this is a thing now," a voice said from behind Draco.

Drawing away slightly, Harry glanced over Draco's shoulder. The cluster of his classmates, the Slytherins, were in various states of detached attentiveness. Blaise spared Harry a wink before returning to a conversation with Pansy, which was interrupted almost immediately by Jackie's arrival at Pansy's other side. The two hulking boys, Vince and Greg as Draco had called them but rarely actually spoke of, seemed as uninterested as bored parents at a playground. The other boy, seemed barely more invested. Theodore, Harry was fairly sure his name was.

"I assume from Blaise's lack of taunts and catcalls that he already knew?" Theodore continued. "Should I be surprised?"

"You can be whatever you'd like to be, Nott," Draco said flatly. "So long as your opinion doesn't interfere."

"Why would it possibly interfere?"

"Because I understand that some people might have a problem with relationships between our two schools for negligible reasons."

Theodore, to Harry's silent relief, only shrugged a lazy shoulder. He didn't seem perturbed, though whether because such a thing, such a relationship, didn't seem quite so strange from a wizard's perspective or simply not strange from _his_ perspective, Harry didn't know. From what he'd seen, Theodore seemed to have little enough actual investment in the happenings of those around him.

If only the people from Harry's school could be quite so nonchalant.

Before either of them could continue, Jackie interrupted with a raised voice and demand for attention from what seemed to be her new favourite spot at Pansy's flank. "Hey, Harry. You guys done with whatever?"

Harry glanced towards her. "Huh?"

"Making out and shit. I wanted to head off, if Your Majesties care to accompany us. Or do you need a few more minutes to gush over each other for spending all of a week apart?"

 _Not even a week,_ Harry thought, sharing a sidelong glance with Draco. Draco's expression didn't twitch, but his hand gave Harry's a brief squeeze. "We're good," Harry said. "Did you have something in mind?"

Jackie turned back towards Pansy. "You sure you don't have to go off with your teacher? You won't get busted if we steal you for a while?"

Pansy, as immaculately made-up as ever, flicked a string of glossy hair over her ear. "McGonagall hardly cares about such things. Besides, we're seniors, and more than capable of looking after ourselves."

"Having a couple of bodyguards always helps," Blaise added. At Jackie's frown, he jerked a thumb towards Vince and Greg. "Crabbe and Goyle here are our bona fide escort. Isn't that right, fellas?"

"Fuck off," Greg said, and Vince grunted in what could have been agreement.

"As eloquent as ever," Draco whispered at Harry's side, so quiet that Harry was likely the only one who heard him.

"Is Blaise serious about that?" Harry whispered back. "Surely not."

"Sadly enough, it's more truthful than I'd like it to be."

"Wait, so –?"

"Family friends," Draco clarified. "Though they've always been more like family group."

Jackie was talking to Pansy again, Blaise interrupting again, but Harry hardly noticed them. He stared up at Draco in rapidly growing incredulity. "Seriously? They're -? You mean they're really -?"

Draco sniffed, and what would have once been a gesture of aloofness Harry now interpreted as being a touch of embarrassment. "Sadly, yes. Pureblood hierarchies. Don't ask me why it's a thing. It just is."

"What the hell…" Harry shook his head, glancing back at Vince and Greg who, when he considered them with the light Draco and Blaise shone upon them, did look a little like bodyguards. It was unnecessary, and surely just a joke but maybe… was this whole pureblood thing a bigger deal than Harry had understood? Just what else did it entail?

"Earth to Harry," Jackie said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Is that a yes or a no?"

Blinking, shaking himself, Harry dragged his attention back towards her. "Sorry, what?"

Jackie rolled her eyes at Pansy, replying with a long-suffering sigh. "The canteen. Food. Hot chocolate. Defrost your skinny butt while I stuff my face with a bacon butty."

"A bacon butty?" Pansy asked.

"It's the pleb term for a sandwich," Harry supplied before shrugging for Jackie's benefit. "Yeah, sure. I skimped on breakfast anyway."

"I know, because I did too and you still beat me to school. You don't get up that early to be able to cram breakfast before getting here. You should feel honoured, Draco. Such a diligent boyfriend."

As Harry fought the urge to splutter a protest, Draco squeezed his hand again. His smile was enough to stifle Harry's embarrassment almost as soon as it arose. "Oh, I know. I couldn't be more grateful."

Harry couldn't help but smile back. He had the feeling Draco referred less his morning punctuality and more to a certain mirror-call the previous. Hell, if it could make him smile like that then Harry would readily spend the entire night simply talking to him.

"Jackie, get us out of here," Pansy said with a faintly curl of her lip. "I might need a bite to eat to keep my own breakfast down after seeing that."

"It's a bit sickening, isn't it?" Jackie said.

"I think it's cute," Blaise said with a wink in Harry's direction. He laughed as Pansy elbowed him.

Harry didn't care. In a remarkably short time, he found he didn't really care what Pansy or Jackie thought of him and Draco. Of them. Of the fact that he couldn't help but smile in Draco's company, or all but cling to his hand. Harry didn't think he'd even care if their morning involved an unfortunate encounter with a particular bunch of unsavoury classmates that would have a real problem with such hand-holding and smiled exchanges. Somehow, when Draco stood next to him with such confidence and unapologetically embraced their relationship, it was difficult to consider feeling anything but.

The rest of the Hogwarts students and their professor had all but disappeared when Jackie began to herd them in the direction of the school canteen. Falling into step alongside a detached Theodore who didn't seem the least bit inclined to converse, Harry settled himself and his concerns to rest with tentative questions to Draco of just what had happened the night before, whether he was really okay, if there was anything he wanted or needed – and, most importantly, whether the offhanded comment he'd dropped at the end of their discussion the previous night was a serious one.

"Please tell me you were joking," Harry said as they made their way into the warmth of the lunchroom. The smell of bacon, toast, and coffee, the staples of a hearty meal for the heavy-eyed sixth formers and teachers, hung temptingly in the air. "Please. You're not serious."

"Oh, but I am," Draco replied, though his smirk suggested otherwise.

"See, when you say it like that I feel like you're joking."

"Not at all. I'm utterly serious."

Harry made a face, spitting his tongue out in disgust. "You know, when Ron mentioned this morning that Hermione was weird for doing extra study over the break, I kind of agreed that it was weird."

"Granger? What was that about -?"

"To think," Harry interrupted with a mockingly solemn shake of his head, "that my own boyfriend would be such a sad case as to actually look forward to coming back to school to 'get back on track'."

Draco, momentarily distracted by the mention of Hermione – who Harry had learned some time ago was a rival of sorts not only for being in a different school House but because she was the only person who challenged his academic status – hauled himself back to the moment. Surprisingly, after a moment of staring and blinking, he broke into a wide smile.

"What?" Harry said suspiciously, stopping where he'd been following their friends to the canteen counter.

"You called me your boyfriend," Draco replied.

Harry frowned. "Aren't I? Am I not allowed to?"

Draco shook his head but it wasn't quite in denial. With a shrug and a surprisingly casual, un-Draco-like gesture, he released Harry's hand to instead drape his arm around his shoulders. It was entirely unexpected, and Harry might have been stopped short if he hadn't already paused in step.

"Not at all," Draco said, his thumb briefly swiping along Harry's cheek. "You've just never said it in so many words before. I've decided I quite like it."

Again, the urge to glance over his shoulder arose, to make sure they weren't being watched, to be sure that no one was glaring and threatening to turn unfavourable stares into aggressive action welled within Harry. Welled – and disappeared almost as quickly with barely more than a swatting thought. How could it possibly linger after Draco said something like that? It took only a second more of contemplation before Harry looped his arm around Draco's waist in return.

The following transaction to gather sufficient breakfast for a hungry Jackie, a picky Pansy, and the combined efforts of Vince and Greg who seemed capable of consuming a day's worth of food before mid-morning, would have been easily overlooked in favour of revelling in Draco's half embrace if Harry hadn't felt the need to step in. Disaster of sorts almost descended when, dawdling as he and Draco were, he overheard a confused Jackie asking, "what the bloody hell are those?"

"Oh Merlin," Draco sighed, eyes drifting skyward.

"What?" Harry asked, peering at where Blaise, leading the line, had drawn a small pouch from his pocket and begun extracting coins. "Wait, are those -?"

"He can be so smart yet so dumb," Draco muttered.

Harry, realising Blaise's slip far less resignedly than Draco, darted forwards before Jackie could reach for the handful of silver sickles and golden galleons that Blaise was sifting through. "Wrong coins there, Blaise. Seriously, why do you even carry them with you?"

"What?" Blaise asked, glancing his way and drawing Jackie's attention with him.

"Did you go to Italy over Christmas?" Harry asked, speaking out of his arse as he fabricated an excuse for the inexplicable currency spilling from Blaise's money-sack. Italian. He remembered something about Blaise mentioning he was Italian and simply ran with it. Digging his own wallet from his back pocket, Harry rifling through his spare change with fumbling speed. "Mate, back to Euros, yeah?"

Blaise stared at him blankly for a moment before, in a succession of expressions that passed so quickly it was barely discernible – horror, embarrassment, amusement, then feigned self-deprecation – he shoved the coins back into the pouch and disappeared the entirety with a flourish. "Oops. Yeah, my mistake."

"What's that?" Jackie asked, glancing between them both and Blaise's empty hand.

"Italian money," Blaise said.

"Don't Italians use Euros too? I'm pretty sure they -"

"No," Blaise said with such immediate confidence that Harry would have believed just about anything he'd said. "Most certainly not."

"It's lira, isn't it, Blaise," Pansy said, stepping in with heavy-lidded grace and confidence. Only the slight tightness around her eyes gave away that she knew how close Blaise's slip had been.

Jackie glanced between them. "Really? No shit?"

Breathing a silent sigh of relief as Blaise began an elaborate discussion of what he surely knew precious little about, Harry briefly closed his eyes and turned to the elderly man behind the counter. He handed over a thin wad of notes – better to cover the costs of everyone's order than risk another slip – before taking a step back to Draco's side.

"Very smooth," Draco whispered in his ear, resettling his arm around Harry's shoulders as though they'd been doing just that for years. It was surprisingly easy to settle beneath.

"You were no help at all," Harry muttered in reply. "Useless boyfriend."

"You handled it perfectly fine yourself."

"He's _your_ friend. You should have leapt to his rescue."

"Actually, I believe Blaise is claiming he's your friend now, after our London visitation."

"What?"

"Besides, what's yours is mine, effectively."

"… what?"

Draco only chuckled, pressing a kiss briefly to Harry's cheek before turning back to the theatrical explanation Blaise was holding as they waited for their order. Harry stared up at Draco for a long moment before, fighting the urge to grin like a fool, he slipped his arm back around his waist.

The canteen was far from full. If anything, it bordered upon empty, what with it being the first Wednesday back. A smattering of students dotted the room, some with notebooks and textbooks spread before them on the sticky tables, but they were negligible compared to the small crowd of Harry and his friends. Quieter too, because as it happened, the three-way forces of Blaise, Jackie, and Pansy could be quite exuberant when they put their minds to it.

The room was warm. The company was good, with the unobjectionable exception of a few key players to fill out their ranks. The food wasn't ideal, but it was filling, and little could surpass a belly-full of bacon and tea in Harry's opinion. Sipping at the last of his own cup, thigh pressed against Draco's and caught in discussion of their upcoming presentation, Harry had the passing thought that he didn't think things could get better than this.

Which meant that, naturally, their perfect ease was disrupted.

Harry saw them first. Maybe, despite how comfortable he'd felt that morning, he was still hyperaware of being watched and of unsavoury company. When a trio of his classmates stepped through the door, loud and swaggering, with Bruce in particular looking even larger than usual wrapped in a puffy jacket and scarf, the mouthful of toast on Harry's tongue turned to ash. That ash became acid as Jacob, leading his friends like the entitled prince he considered himself most of the time, glanced their way.

Harry saw recognition register. He saw Jacob's eyes sweep over their heads. He saw him pause briefly on Jackie where she was tucked particularly closely to Pansy as they snickered to one another, then as he stopped on Harry. Instantly, Draco's arm around his shoulder's became intensively heavy. It was all Harry could do to resist shrinking beneath its weight. All he could do to glare at Jacob as Jacob's lip curled.

 _I'm allowed to do this,_ Harry thought, demanded of himself to think. _I am. There's nothing wrong with it, I'm allowed to do whatever the bloody hell I want, and if Draco's fine with it then there's no reason I shouldn't be._

It was as disheartening as it was infuriating that Harry's mental coaxing only seemed to mostly work.

Draco, ever attentive in a way that Harry would once have never expected of him, seemed realise the moment something was wrong. Pausing with his own tea half-raised to his mouth, Harry felt more than saw him glance at him sidelong. "Harry, what wrong? Are you -?"

He cut himself off as he clearly saw Jacob and his friends. It was a little difficult to overlook them when they were stalking towards the table Harry and his own friends were spread around, butting past chairs and tables as though they owned the place. In many ways, Harry suspected that Jacob thought he did. There was something to be said for a senior's unwarranted sense of entitlement.

"What's this, a table of deviants?" Jacob asked as soon as he was within spitting distance. The disgust curling his lip became a smirk.

Conversation at the table immediately died. Jackie glanced up sharply, hair all but standing on end as her hackles visibly rose, and Pansy's hooded regard wasn't much different. Blaise slowed in his chewing, Vince and Greg glanced up from their meals, and even Theodore seemed to gather himself from his persistent nonchalance to turn their way.

Harry felt Draco's arm tense around his own tight shoulders. His hand, hanging against Harry's collar, curled slowly curl into a fist. Abruptly, Harry decided he was pretty goddamn pissed off, too.

"Fuck off, Jacob," Harry said. "Do you really have to be told when you're not wanted around here?"

"Clearly," Jackie said before Jacob could reply. "He's always been dense. Got his head stuffed too far up his own arse, I reckon."

Jacob glanced between them, smirk reverting to a sneer. "It's a good thing that I didn't ask for your permission, then," he said. He flicked a finger around their table, encompassing the Hogwarts students. "But you lot? You're not from around here, which makes you intruders in our territory."

"Good lord, is this a pissing match?" Pansy drawled. "Territory? Really? Are you dogs, now?"

Jacob's cheek twitched. At his side, Keith bared his teeth in a manner that ironically resembled the dog Pansy accused him of being, and Bruce's face darkened as he grumbled a reply. "No one asked for your opinion, little bitch."

Jackie practically hissed, rising from her seat, and only stopped when Pansy darted a hand out to stop her. A languid smile spread across her lips. "Fortunately for you, my opinion never needs to be requested."

"She's right," Blaise said, slouching back in his seat. "She'll tell you even when you don't ask for it. Especially when, actually."

"Who the fuck are you?" Keith asked.

"Why do you want to know? Interested?"

"Jesus, they really are a bunch of bloody poofs," Bruce said, folding his heavy arms across his chest. He jerked a chin at Harry, at Draco, and spat a globule to the floor at his side. "Disgusting. You're infecting them all, Evans."

" _That's_ disgusting," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose as she eyed the floor at his side. It was spoken with such distain that Harry might have applauded her in other circumstances.

"I'll have you take that back," Draco said lowly. "If you know what's good for you, that is." A pause, and then he added, "Don't make me ask again."

The cosy lunchroom air seemed to chill. Draco's words seemed to switch off every heat source in the room. Jacob snapped his gaze towards him, Keith and Bruce a moment later, and even Harry couldn't help but glance up at him. Draco didn't return his stare. His smooth face, narrowed eyes and thinned lips, was turned upon Harry's classmates and could have rivalled a marble statue's for how hard it seemed.

With his words, a silent switch was flipped amongst the Hogwarts students. Blaise's casual swagger vanished and the lazing in his seat seemed more akin to the threatening laze of a tiger. Pansy's hooded regard sharpened, Theo tightened like a coiled spring, and in movements so slow that it was almost imperceptible until they were fully standing, Vince and Greg rose to their feet. Harry decided in that moment that maybe the title of bodyguards was quite accurate indeed.

The shift didn't go unnoticed. Glancing back towards Jacob and his friends, Harry saw Keith take an unconscious step backwards. Bruce shifted between his feet, eyeing each of the Hogwarts students in turn. Even Jacob, always so full of hot air, was shunted from from his posturing. He stared at Draco unblinkingly, and though his sneer was still fixed, it appeared more affixed by a change in the wind than for with actual ferocity. His audible swallow only enhanced the effects.

For once, both Harry and – more unusually - Jackie could only watch in silence. At Jacob and his friends, and at their own friends. Jacob's words always pissed Harry off, always sent Jackie into volatile sparks, but those words weren't unexpected. They weren't unusual, and it wasn't like he couldn't handle them. Harry gave as good as he got most days, often better than what he got, but this…

There was something almost euphorically _good_ about having someone rise in his defence. Harry's skin prickled with an oddly feverish shiver, and it was almost impossible to resist the temptation to grab Draco and drag him into a fierce kiss right then and there.

"What -?" Jacob began, swallowed again, and cleared his throat. "What the fuck are you on about? You think you can just – that you'll just –"

"Good morning, Jacob. Are you alright? You're looking a little peaky."

In an instant, the moment shattered. As one, the entire table and Jacob's group swung towards the intruding voice.

Jill stood as calm and unthreatening as ever. Hair pulled into a loose plait that hung over her shoulder, her face clear and smile gentle and comfortable, she stood with her violin case butting absently against the front of her knees where she held the strap in both hands. She spared her smile briefly for Harry and his friends before Jacob demanded her attention.

"What the fuck do you want, Hayes?" he said, a statement which, given who he was talking to and who Jill was to Harry and his friends, seemed a little redundant.

Jill only shrugged. "Nothing much. It just looked like something was going on here, so I just thought you should know that Mr. Dawson's coming down in a second. I heard a couple of the fourth form kids running up to get him."

Jacob blinked. "What?"

Another shrug, and Jill passed him to slide into the seat that Blaise seemed to conjure at his side. Harry didn't even see him pull his wand, but it could very likely have been magical give what he was coming to know of Blaise. "Just thought you'd like to know," Jill continued. "Mr. Dawson was the one who gave you all a strike last time for fighting, wasn't he? I wouldn't want you all to get in trouble again."

No one could question the sincerity of Jill's words. It simply wasn't possible. Even knowing her and that she disliked her long-time bullies as much as Harry did, he was convinced she meant it. Jill had an impossible disposition of compassion that seemed to extend even towards her enemies. It was unwavering and always had been.

Jacob clearly realised it for the truth that it was. Sharing a glance with his friends, taking a half step backwards, he cast his gaze once more around the table. His lips twisted as he looked at Jackie, restrained as she still was against Pansy, then further when he shifted his gaze to Harry. A flicker of a glance to Draco, though, and he took another, proper step backwards.

"Whatever," he muttered, scoffing. "You're not worth my time anyway."

Waving a disregarding hand in the direction of their table, a wave that looked forceful enough to flip the table had he been standing a little closer, he turned and nudged Keith and Bruce into motion with a tip of his chin, stalking back the way they'd come. Harry watched them leave until the doors into the lunchroom clicked closed, shutting the wind and the intruders out with it.

The instant it did shut, it was as though the iciness in the room that had nothing to do with the winter chill seemed to lift. Ease replaced the frozen preparedness around their table and tension exhaled like pressure released from a balloon. Or maybe that was just the effect of Jill's greeting; she'd always been a morning person.

"Hi, everyone," she said with an encompassing wave. "You're all here early."

"Same to you," Blaise said, sliding in before anyone else could reply and adjusting his seat to face Jill. "What's with the case?"

Jill's foot gave a gentle nudge against the case under the table. "I've got music this morning."

"Music? Really? What do you play?"

"The violin, mostly."

"Really? I bet you're incredible. You've got the hands for it."

Jill laughed, beaming. "Thank you, but I doubt it. I've only been playing –"

"For seven years," Jackie butted in, overriding her. "And yes, she's awesome. You should hear her."

"Seven years, maybe, but only some of that time I've been seriously –"

"Seven? Bloody oath." Blaise shook his head slowly. "Can I come and watch?"

Jill's laugh was a little nervous this time, but her shrug wasn't a no. "If you'd like. I mean, I can't promise it'll be anything exceptional, but…"

She was talking herself down, Harry knew. Blaise would love to hear her; he knew that, too, and mostly because it would be Jill playing rather than because of her objective talent. There was more going on there than was openly admitted, something that was a little bit sweet and a little bit wonderful, the same but different to the sharp, almost vicious something between Jackie and Pansy and yet reminiscent of it, too.

Yet Harry didn't dwell on that. He couldn't bring himself to, what with the prickle that still itched his skin and the pervasive need to turn towards Draco, to touch him, to express somehow how what he'd said meant something. Something big yet inexplicable. Something that was different to how it felt when Jackie spoke in their defence, or Jill stepped in, or his parents seethed and defended in the face of family and strangers alike.

It was different because it was Harry's boyfriend who'd done it. His boyfriend who had practically threatened someone who had been so much more than a thorn in Harry's side for years. His boyfriend who had made Jacob freeze like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. Turning directly towards him, Harry stared at Draco's composed profile until Draco returned the stare.

"What?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. How could he explain something that was so big and muddled yet so wonderful that he didn't think he properly understood it himself? "Nothing. Just – thanks."

"Thanks?"

"For standing up for me."

Draco blinked slowly. "I hardly said anything."

"I know, but –"

"And I didn't get the chance to even do anything."

"Yeah, but still."

Draco clicked his tongue, the sound lost beneath a burst of Jill's laughter. "I wish I could have hexed him. He deserves it for everything he's done. I should have."

Harry shrugged. He didn't care that nothing had become of Draco's threat. It didn't matter in the greater scheme of things because the important thing was that Draco had stepped in, had wanted to, had been about to, and Draco was his goddamned _boyfriend_ , and –

"Did you do something magical then?" Harry asked, as much to distract himself as out of real curiosity.

Draco arched an eyebrow. "When?"

"When you said that. I don't know for sure but it kind of felt like it." When Draco didn't reply, he asked again. "Did you?"

Draco still didn't reply, but his lips twitched. It was only slightly but noticeably. He studied Pansy for a moment as she took the conversation across from them by the reins with a toss of her head and a wave of her hand. He took a slow sip of his tea and went so far as to extensively readjust his arm around Harry's shoulders before replying.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. But, if it was something magical, it certainly wasn't intentional."

"It wasn't?" Harry asked.

"Of course not. Did you see my wand?"

Harry hadn't, which was a reasonable explanation, but then… Draco's lips twitched again, his eyes darting to Harry sidelong, and Harry didn't need to be told. He didn't know much about magic and spells, not about wands themselves, but he was starting to know Draco.

Leaning into him, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist. He kissed the corner of his mouth briefly before pulling away with a smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

"Not gonna lie, it was kind of hot."

Draco hummed, finally breaking into a smile. "I'll have to do it more often, then."

Harry grinned, and leaned in for another, longer kiss. He didn't think he would have cared if anyone were watching, if anyone protested. Not even vindictive prats like Jacob would stop him right then, and he couldn't help but wonder why he'd ever thought it should.


	13. Chapter 13

"Never would have thought the day would come that I'd skip lunch to go to class early."

Harry glanced towards Jackie as they made for the hall. For all of her long-suffering words and dramatic sigh, she was practically leading the way. "Really? Because you're the one who seems the most keen to get there."

Jackie eyed him sidelong. "Don't bullshit me, I know you are, too."

"I'm not denying it."

"Even without your boytoy –"

"Boytoy?"

"- you were always weirdly dedicated to this assignment. Why is that?"

Smirking at Jackie's words – he couldn't help but wonder what Draco would think of being called such a thing – Harry shrugged. Why was he so invested in the presentation for that year? And the presentation specifically, not the entirety of C&C. After all, the project they'd been assigned to share with the Hogwarts students was far from being the only work they had on their agendas. It just happened to be the most interesting.

Which Harry supposed was probably the reason for his relative enthusiasm. Certainly, the project itself was far from an enjoyable undertaking, but studying magic? Muggle magic, as Harry had learned to differentiate is as. He'd forgotten his old love for it, but it really was interesting. Assuming a scholarly approach rather than a theatrical, performing role had been unexpectedly enjoyable. It became even more interesting when the history and use of real magic became involved. So much had been discovered that Harry had never considered before.

Like how many of the witch hunts hadn't been of real witches, and that those who had been involved saw it as a special brand of entertainment and daring to tempt fate and avoid the flame or the noose. Or how the controversy over Jasper Maskelyne's contribution to World War Two had more to do with the Wizarding world's struggle to cover up his unlawful meddling than any issue of truth.

How so much of modern magic – both real and Muggle – had its roots in Egypt, or how many myths across the board could be explained by magical creatures or wizarding involvement. That Reginal Scot's _The Discoverie of Witchcraft_ was written by what Draco had termed a squib, the man cast out from his Wizarding family for his lack of magic who retaliated with a fierce outpouring of secrets and deceptions of his own people.

From Robert Houdin being the father of modern magic to actual modern magicians like Harry Houdini, Criss Angel, and David Copperfield, he'd explored them all and pasted throughout the twenty-minute presentation that Harry, Draco, Jackie, and Pansy were to deliver in a week's time. But more than that, the sheer wealth of what Harry had discovered that couldn't be included, the secrets that he couldn't tell Jackie, couldn't share with his parents in an animated dinner conversation, was fascinating.

Harry loved magic. He'd always loved it, even when he hadn't been practicing it. Now, in the throes of study of its history and practicing the real kind with Draco, how could he not be enthusiastic?

"I don't know," Harry finally answered Jackie's question. "I guess magic has always just been my kink."

"Right," Jackie said, taking a turn down the corridor leading to the hall. "I don't suppose Draco's got any card tricks up his sleeve, has he? That would definitely explain a lot."

 _Oh, Jackie, you have no idea._ Harry grinned, and Jackie rolled her eyes.

They'd decided to come early. Of course they would, because lunch was hardly worth spending in isolation when Draco and Pansy – and Blaise, with the likely accompaniment of Jill, who had been the one to suggest they meet early in the first place – were on school grounds. Harry would be the first to admit that, when it came to Wednesdays and the knowledge of Draco's presence barely a building or two away, school became a little difficult to concentrate on. Maybe more than a little. If he hadn't checked and double-checked – mostly with Jill, who had always been quietly studious – he would have almost been worried that his distraction was damaging.

As if it could ever be damaging. Harry didn't think that Draco's company could be considered 'bad', even if he failed his A-levels because of it. He might be getting ahead of himself, but Draco felt like the best thing to come out of his school experience. Like, ever.

"Oh my God," Jackie muttered, drawing Harry back from where he'd been drifting.

"What?" he asked.

"You. That face. You've got your 'thinking about Draco Malfoy' face on." When Harry's smile widened, she poked his cheek, pushing his face to the side. "Stop it," she said, though a grin rose on her lips nonetheless. "You're embarrassing to look at."

"Like you're any better. You have a Pansy face."

"Yeah, but that's understandable. I'm in my honeymoon period."

"Honeymoon…? What the hell?"

"Three dates. Our relationship is still young. You and Draco are practically an old married couple."

Harry snorted, but he couldn't help but cling to the thought. They really hadn't been together for that long; a couple of months which paradoxically felt like both longer and shorter than that time. Harry found he couldn't imagine _not_ dating Draco, and spending every other afternoon with him when Draco Apparated to Potting Point, or practicing magic with him because with each new charm, each spell and each explanation of something Harry knew shouldn't be possible but experienced nonetheless, it became that much harder to turn back. That much harder to think of any other possible reality.

Draco had changed everything for Harry, and not only because he was the first real boyfriend he'd ever had. He'd turned the world on its head in the best possible way.

"I guess I can't really contest that," Harry said, flicking Jackie's finger away as she continued to prod his cheek. "I mean, getting married…"

"Dude, no." Jackie pulled a face. "Way, way too early for that."

"And currently illegal. Yeah, I know."

"Forget illegalities, I'm talking about the fact that you're still a bloody teenager. Slow down a bit, champ."

"Now you sound like Sirius. You know he actually told me that."

Jackie snorted. "Seriously."

"Seriously. His exact words were 'You're not allowed to get married until we've at least met the guy, so slow down.' What do you people think I am?"

"Whipped," Jackie said immediately.

Harry poked Jackie's cheek in return. "Takes a sucker to know one."

Jackie shrugged, not even bothering to deny it – until she abruptly jerked to a stop in step. Her smile faded into a frown as she stared ahead down the corridor, opened her mouth, closed it again, then asked, "Just what the bloody hell are they doing?"

Following the line of her gaze, Harry stopped alongside her. He watched as, just outside the hall, Ron and Hermione, alongside two boys and two girls that Harry vaguely knew as being other Gryffindors, huddled in a circle with bowed heads and tucked shoulders. It looked nothing if not suspicious and, given that they were Hogwarts students, Harry couldn't help but think that 'suspicious' usually amounted to 'magical'.

Butting Jackie from her frowning stare with an elbow, Harry tipped his head, gesturing to the bathroom halfway down the hall. "Whatever. Probably nothing. Didn't you say you needed to use the loo?"

"What?" Jackie blinked from her frowning stare. "Oh, right. Yeah, won't be a second."

"Take your time. I'm not judging."

"What am I supposed to be doing in there exactly, Harry? Powdering my sodding nose?"

Harry shrugged. "With how you are around Pansy at the moment, I wouldn't be surprised if you went in there for a whole wardrobe change."

Jackie grumbled under her breath as she headed for the bathroom. As soon as the door swung shut, he slipped down the corridor on silent feet towards the Hogwarts students.

They didn't notice him at first. Properly distracted, he was able to peer over the shoulder of one of the girls to get a look at the object of their attention without disruption. He was glad he did, because… it was bloody cool, was what it was. Impossible, because Harry's physics professor had told him it was, but readily explainable with the simple excuse of magic.

He should have expected it. With what he knew of Ron and Hermione's project, it might have been expected that it would have something to do with Muggle technology. That technology, a mobile phone not unlike his own, took on a distinctly different shine when coupled with magic. The phone in Hermione's hand – not unexpected given that Harry had learnt she was one of the few Muggleborns in their year - looked so out of place alongside a ring of wands that poked at it like children with a stick.

Or it looked like poking at first. That was until the sparkle of magic washed over the phone and a conjugation of an identical copy appeared in the hand of the tall boy Harry vaguely knew to be called Dean. Then again, when the girl named Parvati touched it with her own wand.

"It'll be the same, right?" Parvati murmured.

"Should be," Dean said. "You ever used a phone before? We can test them out."

"Can we make a couple of extra, you reckon?" the sandy-haired boy Harry thought was named Seamus asked. "So we can pull it apart and have a look at its guts or something."

"Seam, that's gross," Ron said.

"It doesn't actually have intestines, Ron," Hermione said. "It's electronic."

"I know, but still."

"Dean, chuck it here, I want to make one, too."

"Copy it from Hermione's seeing as that's the original one."

"Will they work at Hogwarts, do you think?"

"I dunno. What if they mess with the wards around the castle –?"

"What're you guys up to?" Harry asked, raising his voice a little louder than necessary. It was time, he decided. Talk of wards and castles drifted into dangerous territory, and Jackie wouldn't be in the toilet for _that_ long.

As one, the entire group lurched into a flurry of motion. Heads snapped towards him, bodies turned and all but stumbled backwards, and wands disappeared up sleeves – but not, Harry noticed, before a number of split-second bursts of magic vanished the phones. Harry couldn't help but find it interesting, and several of many questions he'd pitted to Draco arose. What were the conjured items actual made from? Where did they come from? And, when vanished, did they actually disappear into atomic pieces? Were they just made invisible? Were they transported elsewhere?

So many unanswered questions – or answered insofar as 'it's magic, it just happens' could be considered an answer. It was less confounding and unnerving than it was fascinating these days. Harry was growing to find it less and less of an issue that he didn't quite understand how it all worked. In fact, that he didn't understand made it even more interesting. He'd have to ask Draco, maybe give it a go himself.

And maybe he was regretting not getting a wand of his own when he'd had the chance. Maybe just a little bit.

The Hogwarts students wore a range of guilty expressions in varying degrees of concealment. Ron's smile wavered and Hermione's blank-faced attempt was about as obvious as they came. Of them all, Seamus was the only one composed enough to reply immediately. "Oh, hey! It's Harry, right? Weird, that I don't think we've actually met before."

"Yeah," Harry said, offering him a smile. "Weird." He glanced to Hermione then briefly at the pocket she'd stuffed her wand into. "I didn't know you had a phone. Did your parents get it for you for Christmas or something?"

Hermione swallowed, the motion as tell-tale as her blank face. "Um…"

"Yes?" Ron supplied, more a question than a reply.

"You too, then, Dean?" Harry asked, glancing towards Dean. He couldn't quite help but tease just a little. "It's Dean, right? Convenient that it's the same model. That makes it so much easier to learn how to use it. I was shit at working it all out, to be honest. Had to ask my uncle to help, which is kind of pathetic."

"Yeah," Dean said, gathering himself. "Totally unplanned and everything."

"And Parvati?" Harry couldn't stop himself. Parvati started a little, guilt flashing across her face. "Just as a heads up, the teachers flip their shit if they see anyone with a phone. Don't ask me why, seeing as it's not like anyone's making phone calls in the middle of class, and it shouldn't matter at lunch or whatever, but still."

"Really?" Ron asked, sounding far too interested in Harry's precaution.

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "So just, you know, keep an eye out around yourselves if you happen to be using them. Got it?"

There was a pause as Harry glanced at each of them in turn. Hermione frowned slightly, and the two girls exchanged side-eyes. He hoped they understood, hoped they interpreted his warning for what it was rather than any particular relevance to magically-conjured phones. Draco had told him about the Statute of Secrecy in the Wizarding world; was it really so hard to keep an eye out to make sure it wasn't overstepped?

Harry liked Ron, liked Hermione, and hadn't an opinion about the rest of them, but the laxness was almost concerning. How, exactly, had witches and wizards stayed a secret for so long when they pulled shit like that out in the open? An oblivious penguin-huddle of bodies was far from sufficient protection if those making up the huddle didn't have a little bit of self-awareness.

Not that it was Harry's job to regulate it. He had to remind himself of that. Even if he was magical, could do magic, it wasn't his world. Smiling at the cluster of them as they awkwardly shifted between their feet, murmuring vague agreements and thanks, Harry stepped past them into the hall.

It was largely empty. Chairs were spaced throughout, a few tables pushed to the walls, and the whiteboard that Jackie had abducted at one point weeks before – not to brainstorm ideas but to teach Pansy a warped version of Hangman – stood before the low stage. In the far corner, the Slytherins was sprawled with the kind of elegance that shouldn't be possible for teenagers, but Harry was coming to learn was typical of his friends and boyfriend. Somehow, even the way that Greg sat reversed on his chair with arms slung over the back, looked less lazy and more like postured positioning.

Draco noticed Harry as soon as he stepped through the door. It felt like he had a radar for it. Or maybe that was how boyfriends just were? Harry wasn't sure, but he couldn't help picking up his pace as he crossed the room. Draco straightened in his seat, turning from the conversation he'd been having with Pansy.

"Hey," Harry said, meeting Draco for a kiss. He dropped into the chair at Draco's side. "Have you guys had lunch?"

"If you can call it lunch," Pansy said, crossing her ankles where her legs stretched languidly before her. "I honestly don't understand why the Hogwarts school kitchens are so incapable of providing decent portable meals. Why do they even have to be any different to our normal lunches?"

Harry bit his tongue on a retort. The Hogwarts kitchens. Draco had offhandedly mentioned they were run by elves, a revelation that had Harry scrambling for a proper explanation. Elves? Like the short, pointy-nosed creatures that allegedly helped Santa Clause in his annual duties? Apparently not, but the explanation Draco had given wasn't much more comprehensible and not in the least because of their pervasive masochism and obsessive servitude.

"You can complain and send written letters of such complaints as much as you want, Pansy," Draco said, rolling his eyes as he draped his arms around Harry's shoulders. It had become his customary position and Harry was more than satisfied with the fact. "It's not going to get you a gourmet lunch."

"Well, it bloody well should," Pansy said. "Honestly, what do you have to do around here to get proper food."

"Beats me," Harry said. "You can have what our lunchroom cooks up, but I wouldn't recommend it."

"Why not?" Theodore asked curiously, glancing up from the book propped open on his lap. "Their breakfast is serviceable."

"Yeah, well, their lunch isn't. Don't try the hash browns. You'll regret it."

"Thanks for the warning," Blaise said with a laugh.

At that moment, Jackie stepped through the doorway, Jill in tow from where she'd apparently been scooped up from outside. As the rest of their friends turned towards them with greetings, Harry turned instead to Draco to murmur in his ear.

"I thought you guys weren't technically allowed to do magic outside of school," he said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "We're not, but there's ways of getting around it."

"Huh."

"Why?"

Harry shrugged. He wasn't about to explain the careless incident that had taken place outside the hall, and not because it wasn't really an incident at all. Draco might have changed his tune when it came to Muggles and Muggleborns like Harry, but there was a feud between Slytherins and Gryffindors that Harry didn't want to dredge to the surface. If he happened to mention the Gryffindors' slip amongst, there would more than likely be some kind of outcry.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Just curious." Shuffling in his seat until he was almost more on Draco's than his own, he slid his arm around Draco's waist. "Also, another thing."

"Another?" Draco's eyebrow rose further. "Another _magical_ thing? Harry, I daresay you're playing with fire, especially when certain ears are present and listening."

Harry smirked, glancing towards Jackie draped over Pansy's shoulder and Jillchatting to Theodore with vague gestures towards his book that was likely more than anyone else could draw out of him. As with Abel, she had a way of befriending the otherwise reserved and unfriendly. Blaise, naturally, had inched to her side like a moth to a flame.

"They're not listening," Harry said, though he lowered his voice further. "I was wondering, though, if you were maybe free this afternoon?"

"This afternoon?" Draco cocked his head. "I was already under the impression we were meeting at the library."

There was no need for the tokenistic 'to study' anymore. A meeting at the library would more often than not lead to a wander around town, likely stopping off at the community gardens – a good spot to practice magic for the surplus of private and shaded corners, even in the chill of winter – then to grab a snack, have a tea, or have Harry call Lily to let her know he'd be out for dinner. Sometimes they visited the shopping centre. A couple of times the local arcade, which would never cease to be hilarious when Draco was involved. He was no less competitive than Harry was.

That day, though, with what he'd seen in the corridor still fresh in his mind, he couldn't help but want to make use of their time together and Draco's eternal readiness to teach him anything that could be taught. Maybe Harry might even be able to exchange such tutelage for a pseudo, simplistic physics lesson to explain exactly why what they'd just done with magic should be impossible.

"How about you come to my place instead?" Harry asked. He grinned as Draco's second eyebrow snapped up to join the first. He hadn't meant it for any particular reason expressly, but he supposed it might have sounded suggestive. "Mum and Dad are both working till late tonight. You've never been, so I figured… how about it?"

"You're inviting me to your house?" Draco asked slowly, the shadow of a smile playing across his lips.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I was hinting at having you teach me some stuff because it's too bloody cold today to do it outside, but –"

"Oh, I'll happily teach you a thing or two," Draco said, his smile unfurling. "Truly, I would."

Harry felt his cheeks warm. Draco never pushed, never tried to force Harry into moving faster than he chose to, but the suggestive comments were certainly coming more frequently these days. Leaning towards him, Harry pecked him briefly upon the lips. "Shut up, you prat."

Draco only chuckled and returned the kiss two-fold.

* * *

How Harry ended up on his back, he wasn't quite sure. If he tried to track the sequence of events, he could have sworn he'd set the ground rules despite Draco's suggestiveness. Magic first. He wanted to study magic first, even if the alternative was looking just as if not more appealing these days.

They made a quick tour around Harry's unremarkable house that Draco seemed to deem curious in that it was 'entirely different from my family's manor'. He laughed when Harry punched his shoulder. Harry offered him a customary tea – he wasn't a complete Neanderthal, after all – and introduced Draco to Hershey's because apparently wizards didn't have ready access to the best chocolate in the world.

Then they'd practiced magic. For a little bit. It didn't last long, however, with one particular segue of a spell.

"That would be so goddamn useful," Harry said with a scoff.

"A cleaning spell?" Draco shrugged. "There's house elves to clean."

"Okay, we're not even going to touch on that right now because you know how pissed off I feel about your slaves."

"They're not –"

"But I mean it. Seriously, do you have any idea how many times I would have killed to have a spell to clean up mess? Especially stuff I, you know, didn't want my mum seeing."

It had slipped out before Harry had properly thought about it. A slip, a brief burst of embarrassment, and then one thing led to another and Harry was swallowing Draco's kisses and dragging him towards himself with greedy hands. Draco followed immediately, and he didn't seem to care in the least that Harry's room was a bit of a mess – he'd commented on that with a pompous smirk – or that it was the first time he'd been in Harry's house – which he'd also commented upon, though far more respectfully.

A flicker of unease, the passing thought _"maybe you shouldn't"_ passed across Harry's mind as he fell back on the bed and pulled Draco on top of himself. It was smothered, however, crushed beneath the weight of Draco's body as he straddled Harry's legs and bent over him to dive into breathtaking kisses. For a moment, as Harry rapidly dissolved beneath every touch of Draco's hands, the curl of his tongue and bite of his teeth, he thought he would stop. That he'd have to stop. That he wouldn't, couldn't, do more, go further. But then –

"Are you okay with this?" Draco asked, a breathy murmur against Harry's lips.

That was it. The briefest question, the barest consideration, and the last of Harry's walls crumbled. It was safe in his home, in his room, and he had everything he wanted at that moment right before him.

Wrapping his arms around Draco, Harry pulled him down on top of him. "Fuck yes."

It became an entirely different experience to anything before. The different angle of the bed, the privacy of a room that wasn't chilled by Harry's own inhibitions, the heated intensity that overwhelmed any possibility that they might arise again. Harry lost himself in Draco's mouth, in sliding his hands across his shoulders, beneath his jumper and along the smooth skin of Draco's back. He revelled in the shiver, the almost inaudible moan than his stroking fingers elicited, in the slight catch in Draco's breath as he dug his fingers into his hips and the again as he slipped a finger into the waistband of Draco's slacks. Blind feeling, riding the waves of desire that directed his hands more than his brain did, Harry lost himself in gasps and touches.

Until Draco stopped it.

"What -?" Harry began as Draco drew away from him.

Draco shook his head as he shuffled back, away, down the bed a little. His cheeks were flushed from his usual paleness, and the slight muss of his hair – the mess that Harry had made – was breathtaking. But he'd stopped. Only his hands, still resting on Harry's chest, stopped the flurry of doubtful thoughts that Harry knew waited to surge forth from the sideline.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Draco said, meeting Harry's eyes with a weighted stare. The heat of his gaze was enough to turn any man's knees weak – or at least it should do in Harry's opinion.

Not that he was thinking of such things – or thinking of much at all – when Draco's hands moved to his jeans. When he unbuckled his belt, hands sliding with a dextrous touch, and slid into his pants. Lying sprawled before him, propped up on his elbows, on his own bed and yet what felt suddenly like some scene from a fantasy, Harry felt nothing if not frozen by the prospect of Draco's motions.

No amount of anticipation could have prepared him, however, for when Draco dropped down on him and took him in his mouth.

A strangled whimper spilled from Harry's mouth before he could stop himself. If he could stop himself. If he'd wanted to. He didn't know if he could, couldn't think, and could only stare down at Draco with blurring eyes. His wavering hand unerringly reached for Draco's head, his legs trembled, and the thick, heavy waves of pleasure radiating from his groin with every slide of Draco's tongue, every stroke of his lips, his hand, was almost too much to bear. It was all Harry could do to withhold the urge to buck his hips, chasing the pleasure, and force himself to suffer the ecstasy of Draco's ministrations.

It didn't last long. Harry didn't know how anyone possibly could. His irrepressible gasps and moans, whimpers and garbled attempts to speak Draco's name, culminated in a fevered "Draco, I'm going to –" before he couldn't hold himself back. Eyes closing, hips jerking, his hand in Draco's hair tightening, Harry was seized by the peaking waves of pleasure that burst through him.

It was better than jerking off. So, so much better.

The lights in his room seemed too bright when Harry managed to open his eyes. He didn't realise that Draco had unfastened Harry's hand from his own hair, untangling his fingers to clasp them instead as he drew off of him. Harry shivered slightly as Draco's straightened, felt himself bare and exposed but for the moment entirely uncaring of that fact. When Draco raised his gaze to meet his, eyes heavy-lidded and lips slick, parted slightly, Harry was struck with such an overwhelming, irrepressible feeling of adoration that he all but scrambled to push himself shakily upright, leaning towards Draco and reaching for him.

He wanted to touch him. To feel him. To make Draco feel as good as he'd made Harry feel. The longing was so intense it was almost overwhelming.

"Are you -?" Draco began, but didn't get the chance to finish his words as Harry all but crashed into him, capturing his lips from where he'd lost them only minutes before. The taste was something else, tinged with unpleasantness, but Harry didn't care. He couldn't.

"You're incredible," Harry managed when he could bring himself to come up for air again. He couldn't pull away far, couldn't bring himself to let go of where his arms had made their way around Draco's neck to hold him as close as possible. It didn't matter that Draco held him back just as tightly; Harry wasn't inclined to loosen his hold even a little.

A slow smile spread across Draco's face. It was a little bit arrogant, a little bit teasing, and Harry didn't care in the least. "I know."

Harry snorted. Then he dropped his gaze down between them, to his open jeans and Draco's own arousal still apparent through the front of his slacks. A brush of embarrassment passed briefly across the surface of Harry's thoughts but disappeared almost instantly. "Let me return the favour?" he asked, a question that held none of the nervousness Harry felt at the prospect of giving a blowjob for the first time.

Draco still smirked, but even that couldn't hide the flicker of longing in his eyes. "You don't have to."

"I know, you twat. I want to, and I wanted to even before you got me off, so –"

Draco pressed a hand over his lips. Or slapped it there, more correctly. Harry almost laughed, almost playfully protested, except that in an instant Draco's expression fell into wide-eyed horror. He blinked, head tilted, and his eyes widened further.

Which was about the point that Harry heard it, too.

Footsteps. Shuffling footsteps, and then the laughter of a voice preceding words thrown down the hallway. A second later, a second closer, and the voice was directing muffled words towards Harry's door.

"Hey Bambi, come take a look at what Sirius brought home from the station. It's hilarious; you should see PJ with it."

He shouldn't be there. James shouldn't have been home yet. He'd said he would be late but – why? Why now?

How quickly sheer joy and intimate privacy could be shattered. Harry had barely a second to share a glance with Draco before they simultaneously threw themselves into motion, all but tumbling onto the floor in their haste. A flurry of scrambling, of straightening clothes and hair and buckling belts; Harry almost fell off his bed for a second time in the process. Straightening, he had barely a second to throw another harried glance towards Draco, to whisper a harsh "It's okay, I promise" before the door was flung open.

James was still in his uniform – which he wasn't technically supposed to be off-duty but often was when he got home. He was grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling behind his round glasses, and buzzing with energy that practically rippled from him in waves. The door hadn't been locked, Harry comfortable with the knowledge that both of his parents were out, but in the enthusiastic state James was in he likely would have ploughed through it somehow regardless.

The moment he stepped through the door, however, everything froze. James jerked to a stop. Draco seemed to harden into stone, rigid and pale. And Harry – he'd made it halfway across the room, planting himself in front of Draco and grasping his hand in a desperate conveyance that _it's alright, I promise, I'll make it alright_. When it came down to it, though, he was as petrified as Draco.

James was the first to thaw. His smile had dropped from his face like a curtain stripped from a window, but it made a wobbly attempt at replacing itself. "Harry," he said slowly, "I didn't realise you had a guest."

Harry's swallow caught in his throat, but he forced his voice to work through it. "Ah… I didn't think you'd be home till later. Mum – Mum said you were thinking of –"

"We had to stop by," James said, though he hardly seemed to hear Harry's words. His gaze was fixed over Harry's shoulder, and a distinct mischievousness brightened his face in a different light. "Sirius. Dropping something off. So?"

Harry glanced towards Draco. Then back towards James. To Draco, sickly pale and lacking in any of the confidence that Harry knew him more than capable of mustering, then again to James, as gleeful as a teenage boy who'd just found out a lecherous secret. In a way, Harry supposed he had, even if he didn't quite realise it.

"Um," he began again. "This is, um…" Why couldn't he find the words? It wasn't like James didn't already know. That he'd been caught, however, and at such a moment, scrambled Harry's brains into an egg-like mash. "This – this is –"

"I apologies," Draco abruptly blurted out. "I didn't mean to wrongfully intrude upon your home, Mr. Evans." Stepping around Harry, his motions still rigid, he extended a hand towards James. "Please, let me introduce myself. My name is Draco, sir. Draco Malfoy. It's very good to meet you."

James stared at him. For a split second, Harry thought he might crack a terrible and embarrassing joke. It would be typical of him, after all.

The reality was infinitely worse.

James smile vanished. His eyes flared wide, but not with delight. Lips peeling into a snarl, his whole face contorting, James took another step into the room. His hand dropped down to his hip and he loomed with such menace that Harry was rendered stupefied.

"Malfoy," James growled. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing in my house?"

Then he pulled his gun. Or it should have been a gun, even if he rarely had a need for it. James was licensed, an armed officer when on call, and it would have been understandable. Far more understandable than a wand.

Harry stared. Eyes locked on the wand in James' hand, he couldn't look away. Every other thought – of embarrassment, of sex, of pity both for himself and for Draco for being caught in such a compromising situation – faded into negligibility because… because Harry's _dad_ was…

"That's –" Draco began, a startled croak that stuttered into nothing before it had a chance to begin. He jerked back a step as James raised the wand to Draco's face, training it between his eyes.

It was wrong.

Inconceivable.

Incomprehensible.

But mostly wrong, that James would be pointing a wand at Draco. That, above everything else, sent alarm bells wailing in Harry's head.

He lurched forward and stepping in line of the wand before he knew what he was doing. Still unable to shake his fixed gaze, Harry's still clutched Draco's while his other rose before himself to ward off – what? Something. Anything. The reality that his dad was holding a wand, perhaps.

"Dad," he managed. "Dad, what – what are you -?"

"Out of the way, Harry," James said, his voice thundering, forbidding of resistance as his wand shifted to point around him. Harry had never seen him so terrifying. "Let me deal with this. A Malfoy? Honestly, do you think it's been so long that we'd forget?"

"What?" Wrenching his gaze from the wand, from repositioning himself to stay in its line of fire, Harry latched onto James' twisting face. "Dad, what are you talking about?"

"Harry, out of the way!"

"Mr. Evans," Draco said, his voice thin and strained, "I'm sorry, I don't understand –"

"No, you wouldn't," James snapped, shifting his wand to point at him once more and cursing as Harry moved with him. "You Malfoy's never did understand. It's part of your excuse for everything you did in the war, isn't it?"

Harry felt his insides chill. He didn't understand either, but he had a vague sense of what James was referring to. It didn't make the proceedings any more intelligible, because how? James, with a wand, knew of the Malfoys and the war and – and _how_?

"How do you know about that?" Draco asked, his voice shaking.

James scoffed. "How long have you known? How long did it take you to find my son?"

"What?" Harry asked at the same time as Draco, their questions equally desperate, equally bewildered.

"Don't try and hide it from me," James said, his voice rising and quaking with anger that flushed in his cheeks. "Fifteen years wasn't long enough for you to give up? What more could you possibly achieve? Your Lord is dead and gone, and no prophecy or predictions involving Harry hold any relevance anymore. How dare you think otherwise."

Harry slowly shook his head. He was so lost that he couldn't even begin to follow the direction of James' words. Prophecy? Draco's lord? What…?

"No," Draco breathed.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. When he did, it was to find Draco eyes even wider than before, his mouth flopping open in a show he would never have otherwise permitted of himself. Never, unless truly stunned. He stared at Harry as though he'd never seen him before.

"Draco?" Harry asked. "What's going on?"

Draco slowly shook his head. "You can't be."

"Don't you dare," James said. "Don't you even try to convince me you didn't know."

"You," Draco said, though it was nearly inaudible. "You're… Harry Potter?"

Harry stared at him. He glanced over his shoulder at James, at James' aggressive rage that trembled through every limb, to his trained wand then back to Draco. Draco, who still stared at him like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or _who_ he was seeing.

Confusion made an even greater mess of Harry's head than it already had been. How had the situation, a perfect, wonderful situation, turned into nonsense and impossibility so quickly? Abruptly, he decided he'd had enough.

"Can someone please explain to me what the bloody hell is going on?"


	14. Chapter 14

The grandfather clock in the living room had never seemed so loud. The living room itself never so deadly quiet. It was so hushed that the minute buzz of electricity, the hum of power winding through cords and cables to the television, to the phone in its cradle on the coffee-table beside the door, sounded like thematic background music.

Harry thought it was rather accurate. His brain had been short-circuiting for nearly an hour.

Draco was gone. While not quite expelled, he'd been decidedly excluded from the house. Harry's protestations that he _should_ be there, that he should _explain,_ had been rebuffed. James had been adamant, as had Sirius, waiting downstairs and turning pale as soon as James had blurted out Draco's name.

"Draco?" Sirius had said. "No, you can't be… You're Narcissa's kid?"

Draco was equally ashen. Gone was the boy Harry had kissed and held but minutes before and in his place was nothing if not the terrified, confused teenager that Harry felt like himself. "You're… you mean you're…?"

Sirius had taken him out, as he'd demanded was necessary conduct for the care of his cousin. His _cousin_. As if Harry needed any more utterly confusing, unexpected, and nonsensical additions thrown into the mix.

Lily came home immediately. Remus arrived. James railed, spoke louder and with more words than Harry could understand or comprehend, and Sirius' spitting input only seemed to add fuel to his raging fire. He'd swept around the living room like a whirlwind, tripping over PJ twice before he'd told Sirius to get the dog out of the room, and nearly struck the wall every time he walked past it.

Harry watched, silent.

Lily was stone-faced and unblinking. Remus' forehead was contorted into a mess of wrinkles, his gaze switching between everyone in the room from where he sat in the corner armchair, elbows on his knees. Sirius paced lengthways across the room, a back and forth prowl at odds with the James' erratic steps, and the two of them only seemed to feed off one another.

Harry just watched silently. Uncomprehendingly.

It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. James had a wand? Then was he magical? Was that why Harry had magic? How did he know Draco? What did he know about the war? Did Lily know? Sirius and Remus? Was… was Harry the only one who didn't?

Words like prophecy and lord turned on repeat in Harry's head. The name Potter – _Potter? Potter? Harry Potter? –_ in Draco's voice wouldn't leave him. Seated at the end of the couch, hands wedged between his knees and eyes trained upon the carpet before him, Harry scrambled to make sense of it all, to connect the pieces of the jigsaw, but nothing would fit.

He was lost and didn't know what to do about it. Not until Lily finally spoke.

"James, for pity's sake," she said, far more sharply than Harry thought he'd ever heard of her. "Sit down and get a hold of yourself."

Harry glanced at her sidelong where she sat at the opposite end of the couch. The paleness of her face had taken on a mottled cast, the scar on her cheek vividly shiny and pale. It was only then that Harry realised – she was pissed, yes, but just as apparent was that she was scared. Terribly scared.

It begged the answer of yet more questions, and Harry had to ask.

"Can someone tell me," he said, and his voice cracked but he didn't care, "what the hell this is all about?"

James, brought to a stop by Lily's words, glanced towards him. Sirius too, though more slowly, almost warily. When he turned towards her, Harry saw Lily's lips pressed so tight and thin that they blanched.

No one spoke. Not a word for a long, long moment. It abruptly made Harry terribly angry.

"Why do you have a wand?" Harry asked of James. "Are you a wizard?"

James flinched. His fist quivered. "Harry, you – how do you know -?"

"Draco's your cousin?" Harry asked, turning towards Sirius. "What the fuck? Does that mean… are _you_ magic, too?"

Sirius glanced towards James, towards Remus, and Harry's clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. There was no surprise from any of them. Not the kind that Harry would have otherwise expected. "Did you all know about this?"

Still no reply.

"How do you know who Draco is? And about his family, and the war."

Nothing.

"A prophecy, Dad? What the fuck?"

Remus hung his head. James shared a glance with Lily and Sirius took a step towards the side of Remus' chair, lowering himself onto the arm.

Harry's skin prickled. Nothing? None of them were going to say anything? After everything that had just happened, every revelation that had abruptly arisen… still nothing?

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said, turning to each of his parents, each of his uncles, in turn. "All of this. Everything that's been… that you've… and that I've…"

"Harry," Lily finally said, harsh but quiet. "What do you know?"

"Me?" Harry swung towards her, and her face hardened further. "What do _I_ know? How about we start with everything that _you_ all know? Let's start with the fact that Dad – Dad, you have a bloody wand? What the fuck is going on?"

"Harry," James began.

"You're all, what, you've got magic and you never told me?"

Remus sighed. "Harry, it's more complicated than that."

"Then fucking uncomplicate it." Lurching to his feet, Harry swung his gaze around the room once more. It seemed to shake, but maybe that was just him. "You've been keeping all of this a secret from me, this whole goddamn magical world –"

"It's not necessary for you to know," James interrupted, voice raised.

"Isn't it? What if I told you I can do magic, then? That I've _been_ doing it? Would that make it necessary?"

Remus' head snapped upwards, and Sirius all but leapt to his feet. James recoiled a step, and Lily's sharp inhalation was almost a gasp. "What?" she all but whispered. "Harry, you…"

Harry glared at her. She was scared, perhaps, but he was furious. This whole time, this whole bloody time, Draco had been showing him a world that seemed to fit him. A world that fit him so perfectly that it felt like a cruel twist of fate that he hadn't been a part of it. And they'd known about it? They'd – what, stopped him from becoming a part of it?

"Fuck you," he spat, entirely meaning it as he hissed at his mother, at his father, at his uncles. He could see that they knew it, too. "Fuck the lot of you. And if you're not even going to have the decency to bloody well explain anything, you can all go to hell."

Before any of them could reply, he turned on his heel and stormed from the room.

Taking the steps two at a time, Harry burst through into his bedroom. The stillness and silence, the mess of the bed that had showed such a different seen an hour before, was a jarring contrast to the craziness crashing through his head. Slamming the door behind himself, he stood on the threshold, hands balled into fists at his sides and seething. He could feel himself trembling with the force of his anger.

Fuck this. Fuck it all. What the hell was going on? What was he supposed to think, to believe, to _know_? Pounding a fist on the door behind him, Harry spat a curse, squeezed his eyes shut, and drew a deep inhalation. Letting it out in a rush didn't help, nor did the next breath, or the next, but after that the trembling slowed. After that, he could move his rigid limbs enough to slump back against the door and slide to the floor.

Dropping his forehead onto his knees, Harry wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face into them. His breaths came in harsh pants, shaking and heavy, and he focused as much of his attention as he could muster upon slowing them. It was better to try that, to think about that, then to consider his parents downstairs. Better than to imagine what they could be saying to one another, what they could be planning on saying to him, what truths to tell and what ones they would keep hidden. How much didn't he know? It turned his gut, flooded the back of his throat with the sharp taste of acid.

He and his family had always been close. They'd always been open with one another, always shared an hour or two an evening regardless of where they'd been scattered to throughout the day. Harry loved his parents, loved that they treated him less like an inferior child and more like an equal, and he loved that Sirius and Remus, as much a family as any of them, did too. He'd felt guilty for hiding the truth from them when he'd first started dating Draco, especially when they were always so honest with him.

But were they? Was he really an equal in their eyes? If they'd kept something from him, something so big, what else hadn't they told him?

Harry squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, counting his breaths. When he eventually managed to pry them open, to raise his pounding head from his knees, he stared blankly across the room. The quilt was half torn from the mattress, sheets askew, and for a brief second Harry's mind flashed with thoughts of Draco. The sight of him, face pale and horrified as first James threatened him and then – then what? Who or what was Harry Potter?

Crawling on hands and knees, Harry ducked under his bed for one of the storage boxes packed beneath. He flipped open the lid, emptying the contents into a heap on the floor, and extracted the bundle of silken cloth that he always stowed at the very bottom, out of sight and hopefully away from curious eyes. Harry wouldn't have put it past Sirius to rummage through his belongings in an attempt to uncover a secret porn collection or something to tease him with. At that moment, the thought was hated rather than amusing.

Unwrapping the bundle, Harry stared down at the handheld mirror, at his reflection cast within the elegantly engraved frame. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy, and his hair was a mess from where he knew he'd probably mussed it even more than usual with frustrated hands, though he couldn't recall doing so. He closed his eyes once more, drew a deep breath, and released it in a gush.

"Draco?" he asked, his voice scratchy and warbling. "Are you there?"

Harry didn't really expect to have to wait. Not in this instance. Or at least he hoped he wouldn't. Draco had been kicked out, practically escorted by Sirius, but he'd cast many a wide-eyed glance back in Harry's direction as he'd left. Harry had hoped – truly hoped as he'd feared the alternative – that whatever realisation Draco had come to, whatever truth he'd uncovered that Harry knew nothing about, he wouldn't abandon him. He hoped for it desperately.

When Draco's face appeared almost immediately, the relief that washed over Harry almost overwhelmed his anger. He grasped the mirror with both hands and sunk his teeth into his lip to stop it from trembling. Draco looked no less pale than he had been when Harry last saw him, but at least the horror was alleviated. He looked just a little more like himself, and Harry needed that right now.

"Hi," he croaked.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked, all but tripping over his own words in his haste.

Harry's laugh sounded almost like a sob. He ducked his head for a moment, closed his eyes to push back the pressure building behind them, and blinked up at Draco again. "Not really," he managed.

"What can I do?"

There was something akin to desperation in Draco's voice. Desperation tinged with helplessness. It was comforting, in a way, to be faced with someone on Harry's level. Someone who was as confused as he was, even if Draco did somehow seem to know a slightly more about the situation.

"I don't know," Harry said, swallowing thickly. "Are you at home? Sirius – he made sure you –"

Draco nodded. "Yes, I'm home."

"Right. And did he…?" Draco waited as Harry fought to force the words out. "Did he… Apparate with you? He did magic, right?"

Draco's nod was slower this time, but no less immediate. Even gentler, it stung like a slap with its honestly. Sirius too? Even as Harry's chest tightened, he grasped onto the lifeline that Draco flung towards him. He wouldn't holding anything back. He would tell Harry what he needed to know, answer when Harry asked.

"I can't believe it," Harry whispered, closing his eyes again once more. "I don't even know what to think."

"You and me both."

"They've got magic, Draco."

"Yes."

"All of them. They can all do magic, and they… they didn't…"

"They never told you." Draco's tone wasn't accusing, but there was a heaviness to his words that struck a chord in Harry. "I'm sorry."

Harry opened his eyes. "What've you got to be sorry for?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm simply sorry this happened to you. And that it happened like this. And that you're…" Draco's stare became weighted with words Harry couldn't hear. "I still can't believe it."

Harry's jaw worked as he fought to find the words. "You know things, don't you?"

Again, Draco nodded.

"About me? And my family?"

Another nod.

"You're related to Sirius? You actually know him?"

"Yes." Draco released the word in a sigh. "I have to apologise for that, too. I just – I never considered the possibility that your Sirius might be my estranged cousin."

"Estranged," Harry echoed. "That actually doesn't surprise me."

"But maybe I should have known. Sirius – it's not a common Muggle name, is it?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think it's a common name period. But that's beside the point."

"It is," Draco agreed.

"They didn't tell me. Not anything. And they're all –"

"There has to be a reason," Draco said. "There must be. With you, and who you are, who your family is – there must have been some reason."

Harry's lip stung as he sunk his teeth into it once more. Draco really did know something. Something big, and something that would – could – explain things. "What do you know about my family, Draco?"

This time, Draco didn't respond quite so quickly. Harry watched as a string of emotions swept across his face, twitching the muscles in his cheeks and contorting his brow. When he finally spoke, the words came out it pieces. "I don't… know. Or I didn't. I… I know of James. James, your – your father. James Potter."

"Potter," Harry said flatly. He'd never even known that Evans wasn't James' surname.

"And your mother, Lily. They're in our history books, you know, though it's the kind of history not commonly taught. The war –" Draco caught himself, drew a harsh breath, and swept a hand through his hair. "What happened in the war is in the past. No one thinks of it as having any weight upon the present."

"What does that even mean?" Harry said, his hands dropping to his thighs as they cradled the mirror. Anger – and yes, more than a little hurt, he was realising – still coursed thickly through him, but confusion and desperation was beginning to dominate. He wanted answers. He wanted some kind of explanation for what had struck that afternoon with the force of a crashing storm.

"I mean," Draco said, staring at Harry with a wide-eyed gaze that was so uncharacteristic of him, that made him look so much younger and far less confident than he usually was, "that your family were famous in the war. That _you_ were famous. And that I can't believe that you're – you're _Harry Potter_."

Harry couldn't believe it either. He didn't know who Harry Potter was, didn't know what part his family had played in the Wizarding war, but it was all such a mess that to label it as unbelievable would be far easier.

Except it wasn't. It wasn't unbelievable and it wasn't impossible. Even as Draco shook his head, denying his own words, Harry knew that he was certain of his own interpretation. Harry's hands started to shake in their hold on the mirror.

"Can you tell me?" he asked. "Please?"

Draco paused in his murmured denials. "Tell you what? Which part?"

"Everything." Harry raised the mirror to eye-level once more and he didn't care that he likely sounded like he was pleading. He was. "Draco, please. Tell me what all this is about. If no one else will tell me, you… you have to –"

"Of course," Draco said, so fast and sharp that he sounded almost angry. Maybe he was angry. "This – all of this – is unbelievable, but it happened. I'm not going to leave you in the dark."

"Thank you," Harry said.

That time, the words definitely sounded like a sob. All at once, Harry felt utterly exhausted. Drained. Stretched thin and feeling remarkably fragile, he just wanted everything to stop. To be sorted. He wanted to know, to understand, and he wanted Draco. He wanted to wrap himself around him, feel his warmth, and hold him as a steady pillar that had turned out to be the only real constant in the entire mess of his situation.

Draco fell silent at Harry's words. He let them remain so for a moment before, somehow, he answered the request that Harry didn't even know he wanted to ask. "I'll come and get you. Can you meet me outside?"

Harry couldn't speak, but he nodded.

"Okay. That's… okay." Draco exhaled heavily. The way the image of his face jostled, the angle moving, coming closer, said he'd picked his mirror up and was moving. "I don't know how long I'll be. I have to slip out without Mother or Father learning of my departure, because they're… well, they've been somewhat disconcerted since Sirius brought me home."

Harry nodded again.

"I won't be long, though. I promise. Then we'll go… somewhere. I don't know where, but we'll get out of here. And I'll tell you everything I can."

With a third nod, Harry managed to find his voice. "Okay," he whispered. "Just – okay. Please hurry."

"I will," Draco said. He stared at Harry for a long moment, his eyes seeming to speak words that Harry could almost hear – reassurance, and comfort, and sincere care – before he nodded and the image flickered out. Harry was left staring at his own reflection once more, only detachedly registering that he looked on the verge of tears.

What did it matter? What did he care if Draco saw him cry? He could bloody well cry if he wanted to, and fuck anyone who said otherwise.

For a moment, Harry could only sit on the floor beside his bed and breath. For some reason it seemed to take a whole lot of concentration. Only when Draco's words, his assurances, echoed once more in his head could he kick himself into motion. If Draco was coming to meet him, to get him and take him away from Harry's family who were being nothing if not cruel with their silence, then he'd be ready for him.

Glancing around his room, Harry stumbled to his feet and snatched up the shoes he'd discarded upon entering with Draco what felt like so long ago. He stepped into them, grabbed his similarly discarded jacket, and slung it over his shoulders before carefully rewrapping the two-way mirror and slipping it into his pocket. With another glance around the room, he paused long enough to rifle through his bag and stuff his wallet into his back pocket before turning towards the door. Only to disregard it a moment later and head for the window.

Harry hadn't climbed from his window in a long time. Not since Jackie had fallen when they were kids and his parents – well, they hadn't expressly forbidden him, but they were both made acutely aware that if they were ever caught again there would be hell to pay. As Harry wedged the window open as far as it could go, he briefly ducked back from the blast of cold that immediately struck him before slinging a leg over the sill. He couldn't help but feel a touch of perverse pleasure from the notion that he was going against his parent's will.

 _See how much you like having things kept from you,_ Harry thought.

It wasn't an easy climb. The winter snow hadn't quite lifted, and with evening all but fallen and bringing the rapid chill with it, the barely-melted frost on the front lawn was already beginning to reharden. The bricks that Harry shimmied down were painfully frozen, all but burning his hands, and he landed with a heavy thud and a hoarse puff of fog on the ground.

With only a quick glance over his shoulder at his house, he turned and set off at a run for the roadside.

Harry didn't know how long he would have to wait. He had faith that Draco would meet him with the utmost promptness, but he still might have to wait. Harry wouldn't go far, just out of sight of his house, then he would call for Draco through the mirror again. He wouldn't – couldn't conceive having to spend any longer alone beneath the smothering weight that had fallen upon him.

Slowing to a stop beneath the nearest streetlamp, the orange glow making a feeble attempt at driving away the descending shadows, Harry didn't even get a chance to reach for the mirror in his pocket.

The pop of Apparition was louder than expected. Harry's street was a quiet one – which was one of the reasons Draco never Apparated directly onto it – and in the frozen cold of winter's emptiness it seemed even louder. Harry was grateful, then, that Draco had made an exception by arriving so closely. Even more grateful that he'd been so fast, which would explain the loudness of the crack. Turning, already moving before he'd properly caught sight of Draco, Harry broke into a run.

Only to jerk to a stop.

Not Draco. It wasn't Draco.

The woman was, for a moment, cloaked in darkness. Not the shadows of night, for it wasn't yet that deep, but an artificial cloak that writhed and twisted around her. As she stepped towards him, however, the veiling tendrils retreated slightly. Only slightly, but it was enough that Harry took an immediate step backwards.

He never would have thought he would see _her._

Bellatrix was gaunt, hollow-cheeked and wan. Her hair was a crazed mess, hanging around her shoulders in lank chunks and bunches of matted curls. She was so painfully thin that not even her shadowy cloak could hide it, and the hand sticking out of one frayed sleeve looked like a gnarled, bony appendage rather than a proper hand, grasping the short length of a wand.

Harry's breath caught in his chest. He stepped backwards, knew he did, but his mind seemed to have short-circuited all over again. Retreat as he might, Bellatrix – how? How was she here? Wasn't she in gaol? – somehow approached even faster.

"Hello, dear boy," she said, and her words seemed to swallow themselves rather than echo across the shrinking distance between them. "So glad we could meet."

"What?" Harry managed before his voice fractured and failed.

"Such wonderful timing we have. I would consider myself lucky, except… well, luck is for those without a grain of intelligence and wit." The smile that stretched across Bellatrix's cracked lips looked painful. "It discredits any hard work, don't you think?"

Harry didn't think. He didn't think anything. What, why, how – none of anything about that evening made sense. It was enough that he could have thought he was having a nightmare, except that no nightmare had ever made so little sense.

He didn't know why Bellatrix was here. He didn't know why _here_ was the place she'd decided she needed to be when she'd – what, escaped from gaol? He didn't know anything, but that didn't stop him from spinning around and fleeing with every inch of terror that abruptly swept through him.

Draco's aunt.

Draco's crazy aunt.

The aunt who was a war criminal, who had been put away for years, who was going to get punished for doing something so wrong, so heinous, that Draco still hadn't been able to tell Harry what it was. Somehow, not knowing made the thought of the woman behind him all the more terrifying.

Harry ran, any thoughts of his family, their betrayal, and magic as far from thought as they'd ever been. His footsteps echoed on the froze pavement, his fogging breath disappearing instantly, caught by the speed of his flight. A split-second decision, not really a decision at all, had him racing for the safety of his house.

Harry ran – but he wasn't fast enough.

The crack of Apparition sounded again. The weight of something – an arm? – slung around Harry's neck, pinning against his throat. He jerked to a halt, was all but wrenched from his feet but a forceful tug –

And then the world twisted around him. The road morphed into a whirlpool of disjointed shapes. The familiar twist of Apparition sucked him in and Harry –

He knew he was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: WARNING - this chapter contains mentions of violence and abuse. It isn't much, but just in case anyone might find this triggering, please be careful.

He woke in a room. Woke, and then stayed there.

There was nothing in that room. Nothing but empty walls and empty floors. No blankets, no bed. Not even a chair. Sometimes what Harry supposed must be called a chamber pot appeared, but it didn't last long. He didn't know why it appeared, or when it would come and go, only to notice it on occasion and deduce its meaning.

That emptiness – it scared him.

There weren't any windows. A door stood on one wall, but it was locked tight, had been opened only a handful of times. Harry didn't remember passing through it to enter the room, couldn't remember how he'd gotten there in the first place but to wake up into it and that –

That was scary, too.

He hadn't eaten in a while, didn't know how long but knew it was a good long while, and that was terrifying in a different way. The kind of way his stomach told him that was _bad_ and he needed to fix it. The last time he'd had a sip of water had been yesterday – or was it yesterday? It was impossibly hard to tell.

He hoped it hadn't been too long.

Every sound that made it through the door was frightening. Every murmur of voices, every slam of something hard hitting the wall, every barked command, set Harry's nerves on end. Regardless of how long it had been, he still flinched whenever a noise pervaded the room.

If anything, it had gotten worse. So much worse, and mounting with every renewed bout of exhausted fear.

No light but for that which filtered under the door. No warmth but for the ambient temperature which was just on the side of too cold to be comfortable. Too cold to sleep in more than exhausted bursts.

No company, though maybe that was a good thing.

No direct threats, but certainly no absence of threat.

No complete isolation, because when _she_ came in it was impossible to miss her. Thin and gaunt as she was, she filled the room for the brief moments she appeared.

No understanding – of why, where, how, or what – and that was in many ways the worst part. Where was he? Why had Bellatrix taken him there? How had she gotten out of gaol, and what did she want? Harry remembered the words Draco had spoken weeks before - something so offhanded it was more projection of a horrifying yet minute possibility than actual possibility itself, but Draco had said it. He'd said she'd escaped once before.

This time, she'd apparently managed it without raising any alarms to alert of her escape. Why, how, and what for, Harry didn't know – but he had something to do with it. And that was terrifying.

Harry felt like he didn't know much of anything anymore, but he knew he was scared. He'd been scared since the second Bellatrix had yanked him from the roadside out the front of his house, dragged him into a tunnel of Apparition, and dumped him into a closed room of no windows, furniture, or warmth. There was no room in his head for anything else. No room for feeling anything but fear.

Harry was scared, and he didn't know what to do about it.

Wedged in the corner furthest from the door, Harry curled in upon himself. His jacket had been stripped from him, and his arms were a feeble substitute as they wrapped around himself. His shoes were gone, too, and he tucked his feet as close to his body as he could get.

Head dropped to his knees, Harry could only wait. He knew he should do something but what was there to do? What was he supposed to do in such an utterly unprecedented situation? Between all the algebra and group presentations, his school seemed to have skipped over outlining exactly what to do in the case of an abduction.

Harry sat and waited. Even in the stagnant emptiness of the room, devoid of immediate threat, he'd never been more terrified in his life.

* * *

The door burst open.

Harry flinched, drawing further into the meagre protection of the wall, but he couldn't stop his head from snapping up, his eyes drawn instinctively to the blinding rectangle of light flooding into the room. To the thin silhouette that he was coming to recognise a all too well. Even blinded, he couldn't look away.

She stalked into the room in a sweep of ragged skirts. Harry shrunk away from her, but it wasn't like he could go far. There was nowhere to retreat to. Terror like a wave crashed over him.

Striding towards him, Bellatrix planted herself over him. Her hands hung loosely at her sides, empty of anything – empty of a _wand_ – and for a brief moment Harry's terror was thin enough that he could think, that he could recognise that Bellatrix's wandlessness was a good thing. Until her hand dove into her pocket and extracted a knife.

A sound escaped Harry's throat, strangled, but Bellatrix didn't seem to hear it. That or she didn't care. Bending over him, reaching for him, she grasped Harry's arm before he could scramble away from her. Despite her size, she managed to hold him down as though it were easy. The knife was so close to Harry's face that he almost quailed.

Bellatrix twisted his arm. With such speed, so quickly that Harry hadn't even the time to flinch, she swiped the knife across his forearm in a savage slash. Harry gasped as, for a moment, nothing but a perfect line marred his skin. Then the blood welled and another whimper escaped his lips.

It hurt. Not immensely, but it hurt. Quivering in Bellatrix's hold, Harry could only stare.

Bellatrix didn't say anything. She didn't even look at his face. With swift efficiency, she dipped into her pocket again and extracted a vial. It was almost sickening how deftly she scooped up the blood spilling down Harry's arm. Harry watched in stupefied horror as she extracted one vial then another.

Then… that was it.

Bellatrix straightened. She raised both vials aloft, squinting at them with a frown. Then, nodding to herself, she spun on her heel and swept back out of the room. The resounding slam of the door in her wake was deafening.

Harry stared. His breath came raggedly, gasping, and all he could do was stare at the thin line of light under the door. A scuffle of feet, the click of a lock, and then… nothing.

With a trembling hand, Harry clamped his fingers over the slice running down his arm. It stung, throbbing with his heartbeat. Warm blood pumped from the wound, and that was terrifying in a whole new way. What if he kept bleeding? What if the cut got infected? Lip trembling despite his teeth clamping into it, Harry stared down at his arm turned invisible in the darkness.

What was he supposed to do now?

* * *

She came. She came like a hurricane of force. Two days later, or was it three?

With her wand out, she strode towards him with a sharp flick of her wrist but no audible spell. The slice on Harry's arm, crusted and hot to the touch, knitted itself into a patchy, half-healed scar.

Another wave of her wand, and a tray appeared, clattering onto the floor before him and spilling the contents of a mug of water, dampening the chunk of bread that sat alongside it.

Harry didn't move. He couldn't reach for it even as the dryness of his tongue demanded it of him, pleaded that he reach for the water. He couldn't look away from her, standing over him, her hands planted on her hips, and all but glaring.

Then she clicked her tongue. She turned on her heel. When she left, her footsteps were stomps. It was almost like the petulance of a child yet carried none of the harmlessness of such petulance. Her footsteps would just as likely shake the earth.

It was a long time before Harry could bring himself to reach for the tray.

Harry thought about escaping. Of course he did.

But how?

He thought about using magic. About Apparating. Hell, he even tried it.

Maybe it should have worked. Maybe, if he hadn't been fighting the urge to throw up what little food sat in his belly, he would be able to do it. Or maybe there was something that would have stopped him.

Harry didn't know of that possibility. As he shivered in the corner of the room, eyes squeezed shut and hoping, praying, pleading with any god or magical deity there was, all he knew was that his magic didn't work. Thoughts weren't actions, and neither were they really magic. The world simply didn't work like that.

Did it?

* * *

"Why won't it work?!"

Harry cringed, shrinking into the corner of the room as he always did, but he couldn't hide from sight. He couldn't bring himself to look away from the madwoman raging before him either, wand in one hand and knife in the other. It felt as though, if he did, she would spin towards him with a curse and her blade spinning for his throat.

Bellatrix paced like a caged tiger, as though she were the one locked in the room and not Harry. She glared at him so fiercely it was as though she were trying to burn holes into him. She likely could. Harry feared she could. That she would.

It wasn't the first time she'd raged. The first time had been even more terrifying. "Why won't it work?" she'd said. "Why isn't he back?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry had tried to ask, though his voice was almost lost beneath its own feebleness.

"The Lord will return," Bellatrix had said, though not to Harry. As she'd paced, muttering under her breath, it sounding almost like she were chanting a mantra. "He will return. I will bring him back. But why won't it work? It should work, so why? Why, why, why…"

"What is wrong with you?" she asked instead that day, the second time that wasn't quite as scary but still terrified Harry to his core. She spat and flung the words, gesturing with her knife and wand. "I used it, just as was written. I used the blood. What is wrong with you? Why isn't your blood working?"

"I don't know," Harry managed, because he had to. He had to say something as she raged over him, cursing and hissing, demanding answers. "I don't know what you're talking about.

A lord. A prophecy. Harry had more time to think in the past days than he'd known what to do with. He didn't know much but he could make connections. This bloody lord, this bloody war, and the madwoman who had escaped punishment for what she'd done in that war and was now trying to – what?

"I'll bring him back," she said feverishly. "I will. I'll find a way, my Lord. I'll bring you back, bring you back, you know I will. I'll find a way, I'll do it, me, your most faithful…"

She continued with feverish mutterings that made less and less sense. Harry watched, wide-eyed, as she prowled before him, shooting him glares, pausing, then beginning her chant once more.

"… why, why won't it work? What is it, what is it that isn't… why won't it -?" Bellatrix jerked to a stop. She spun towards Harry once more and he flinched as she snapped a harsh, "why won't it work? What did you do?"

What did he do? What did _Harry_ do? He wanted to protest, even as the thought of doing so made him quail. He wanted to ask _why, why, why_ in return just as much. His lips parted, mouth opened, and the urge was there but struggling, until –

Her slap caught him across his face in a fierce blow. It was strong, her arm so strong, that even seated Harry was thrown to the floor at his side. Bellatrix shrieked her frustration, feet stomping, and Harry could only scramble to sit up once more, to press himself into his corner and make himself as small as he could.

Bellatrix was panting. For a long moment she stood in the centre of the room, shaking and heaving. When she finally stopped, wand and knife raised, gaze turned to the ceiling as though to plea with an unseen god, her chest stuttered. She was a terrifying sight, but Harry couldn't look away.

And then – gone. In a whirl of motion, her ragged skirts sweeping around her, Bellatrix turned and strode from the room. The door banged shut behind her and seemed to shake the whole room.

Harry stared at the dark smear of the door, and he almost couldn't breathe. Slowly, fingers trembling, his hand rose to his stinging cheek, pressing against the angry flush of his skin. A wordless sound managed to slip from his lips but it died almost immediately.

Bellatrix was insane. Terribly insane, and yet she had a goal, an objective, and something that wasn't working for her. It promised a whole new kind of risk; the handprint on Harry's cheek was more than telling of where she would lash out should she fail.

"Fuck," he whispered. "What do I do?"

* * *

He missed his mum. And his dad.

He missed Draco.

Harry missed Sirius and Remus. He missed his friends, missed Jackie's loud confidence and Jill's calm, quiet reassurances. He missed PJ, too, and couldn't help but think of how warm the dog's fur would be if he was at his side, the comfort as much in his presence as the heat that he would provide.

He missed school, though he didn't know why that thought occurred to him. He missed the sunlight, though he couldn't have said exactly how many days it had been since he'd last seen it. The comfort of his bedroom, the familiarity of his kitchen, the cosy dinners with his family that he'd taken for granted when he'd had them but now felt like the greatest gift in the world.

Harry missed it all, and he couldn't help but regret that he'd forgotten how much he cared for them – for all of them – when he'd bellowed his rage days before.

"I want to go home," Harry murmured to himself, not for the first time since he'd woken in the foreign, closed room, subject to the whims of a madwoman. Squeezing his eyes closed, he wished for it so hard that surely, _surely_ whatever magic he possessed would take him there. To all of them. Any of them.

It didn't work. Nothing was ever that simple.

* * *

Bellatrix spoke to herself, too. At first, Harry had thought she had company. That she was working with someone.

But no. Bellatrix talked to herself, raged in her isolation, and reasoned with herself in muffled words that couldn't be properly discerned through the door. Sometimes she even laughed.

Harry didn't know whether the fact that she was alone, that she didn't have another person to help her in her endeavours, comforted him or left him feeling worse. Somehow, he thought it might have made her a little less crazy. Somehow, it might have made the thought of escape a little less impossible.

* * *

Harry glared at the mug.

It was empty. Had been empty for – how long? At least a day. Bellatrix forgot to fill it, and when she did it was with a muttered spell as often as a silent one, a charm flung towards the cup to fill it until it was splashing over the edges. _Aguamenti_ , she said, and the water just… appeared.

If only things were that simple. If only _magic_ was that simple.

But Harry didn't have a wand, and he wasn't even sure his own magic, what little he had, would work. That he couldn't use it, that it hadn't already acted for him, was nothing if not undermining of what little confidence in his abilities he'd had. Draco had said he'd Apparated on the day that he'd first been told about real magic. That time, he'd been desperate. So, why couldn't he do it again?

Harry didn't know. Magic, as he was growing to realise, wasn't logical. Even so, he'd be damned if he wouldn't try to force some sense onto it. His throat was parched, his tongue heavy in his mouth, and he didn't know for sure but that he was no longer shivering despite still feeling the cold probably wasn't a good thing.

His fear hadn't retreated, but it was a constant now. A constant as automatic and and consistent as breathing. As constant as the ache that lingered in Harry's arm from where Bellatrix had cut him, or the bruise on the side of his head from where she'd struck him most recently, a blow harder than her slap had been. It twinged with every throb of his incessant headache, as impossible to ignore as the rest.

Harry couldn't do anything about those problems. He couldn't really do anything at all. What he could do, however, was glare at the chipped, empty mug and curse it to hell until it filled with water.

Naturally, because nothing was ever easy, it didn't fill. Of course it didn't. Just as Harry didn't miraculously Apparate back home, or how no unexpected blast enabled him to sweep Bellatrix from the room with a gust of wind when she loomed over him. It didn't work, no matter how much Harry wanted it.

After a time, even glaring became exhausting. Sighing, defeated, Harry dropped his forehead back to his knees, his arms wrapping around his shins once more. Before he'd been in the room, he hadn't known what hopelessness was. He hadn't known what it felt like.

He wished he hadn't learned.

 _What can I do?_ he thought. Pleaded. Begged of himself, or someone, anyone. _Someone tell me what I can do? Just… I just have to do something._

Only in sheer desperation did all walls come tumbling down.

* * *

When Harry next opened his eyes, the mug before him was filled to the brim with water.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry's breath shook as he extended his hand. His fingers trembled – he felt more than saw them shake – but he held it firmly aloft nonetheless. Swallowing, barely daring to breathe, to hope, he croaked out a single word.

 _"Incendio._ "

It was barely a flame, little more than a candle's flicker of light, but it appeared. A flame suspended over his palm, stuttering and winking but not disappearing. A gasp, almost a sob, slipped from Harry's lips.

He'd done it. How? Why did it work now? How had he made a fire without a wand, made water before that? That wasn't how magic was supposed to work… was it?

Harry didn't know. He understood next to nothing about magic, and he was beginning to think he knew even less than he'd assumed, less than he'd considered Draco's lessons had taught him. Magic didn't have laws like science. It didn't follow known rules, because it was magic. It was the very definition of impossible.

Harry's breath came in pants. Beneath the feeble light of the flame his hand visibly shook, his fingers pale and thin. He didn't want to let the light go, didn't want the flame to die, so with an awkward heave he pushed himself up the wall with one hand.

For a moment, Harry swayed. His head took a dizzying turn. When was the last time he'd properly stood up? Days? He didn't know. He didn't know a whole lot of things, but some things he was certain of.

He knew Bellatrix was insane, that she had an agenda, and that Harry played a part in that agenda. That she had a lord and she was, somehow, working to bring him back. To life? Possibly. Probably. Harry had deduced that much.

He knew that the room was closed. He knew that the door was locked. He knew that for most of the day Bellatrix idled outside of that door, more often than not muttering to herself and clanking around like a clumsy chef in a new kitchen.

He knew, just as he knew that, at least for the moment, the room next door was silent. Silent, and possibly empty of a madwoman.

Maybe. Hopefully. Because regardless of whether she was there or not, Harry was getting out, and he was going to do it now.

He knew he could do magic. Somehow, he could do it. He knew that he couldn't Apparate – he'd tried that – and that it could have something to do with the room. Wards were a thing, he'd learnt, and even if Draco hadn't spoken much of them, Harry had spent enough time alone with his thoughts recently to weave together every possible morsel of useful knowledge stored in his memory.

It was very possible that it could be a ward. An Anti-Apparition ward. Which meant that, outside of that ward, Harry would be able to Apparate away. He didn't know for sure if he could manage it, but he'd try. He'd kill himself trying. He had to because, wherever he was, it was isolated. It was hidden. Harry didn't believe that his family weren't looking for him, that Draco wouldn't be looking for him after he'd promised to come for him and then never showed. They were looking, Harry was certain – just as he knew that they weren't going to find him. They would have already if it were possible.

Which meant that Harry had to get himself out.

It was a daunting task yet somehow seemed almost expected in his circumstances. Expected of the wild, crazed turn his life had taken. But he would face it all because there was no other choice. Bellatrix was terrifying and Harry was exhausted. He was next to useless, swaying with weakness from days, _days,_ of isolation and too little food, too little sleep. He was chilled to the bone and he hurt in places that had been hurting for days.

But he would get himself out. Harry wouldn't be useless. Not anymore.

Edging around the room, using it as a crutch to keep himself upright and growing only slightly more confident with every step, Harry crept towards the door. Or he tried to creep; the scuffing of his socked feet seemed far too loud to his ears. He was sure that, however far away Bellatrix was, she must certainly hear it. Between that and his thundering heartbeat, it felt certain that she would hear his every move.

But the door didn't open. At least not from the other side. When Harry paused alongside it, caught his breath in a silent plea that his magic would work, and whispered, " _Alohamora,_ " the sound of a muted _click_ whispered in reply.

The flame above his palm disappeared, but it didn't matter. The sound of faintly squeaking hinges that replaced it had never sounded so beautiful.

It took a long moment and a dose of courage that Harry wasn't sure he'd had before that very moment to force himself to peer through the thin opening of the door. The room beyond wasn't brightly lit, but in contrast to the one at his back been in practically glowed. A candelabra sat in the centre of the room atop a table, lit and flickering with yellow flame, and a string of other mismatched candles scattered across every surface. It served to illuminate the room well enough.

Harry almost wished he hadn't seen it at all.

The heavy wooden table sat in the centre of the room. Overhead, chains hung low around a metal contraption that looked far too similar to the pictures Harry had seen in some of Jackie's medieval torture books. Chairs were flung about the room – looked to have been literally flung for the way most of them lay on their sides – and spaced throughout –

There, a cauldron, bubbling over a fire.

There, a bookshelf laden with dust and boasting more grimy jars of suspended specimens than books.

There, a stretch of a counter laden beneath glassware, bottles and beakers, stoppered vials and liquids of vibrant colours. As Harry glanced towards it, he saw one beaker, swirling with muddy, viscous fluid, burst a swamp-like bubble from its surface.

It looked like a witches den, which Harry could almost laugh at in a fit of hysteria. A witches den of the like that broiled poisons and trapped little children to fatten up with gingerbread before eating them herself. It turned Harry's belly, would have made him nauseous if he'd had anything in his gut, and it took a Herculean effort to step into the room.

Which was when he saw the worst part of it all.

It was stationed just to the side of his room, which was probably why Harry had missed it. A stand – no, a cot. A cot with a cradle nestled between its ornate ends. For a moment, the juxtaposing shadows swathing the room hid the contents, giving it the impression of little more than a formless bundle of blankets tucked beneath the half-raised hood of the basket.

Then Harry blinked and he saw it.

Stumbling backwards, slamming into the wall, Harry's hand didn't make it to his mouth fast enough to stifle the strangled sound that slipped forth. He scrambled away, but it didn't feel fast enough because within the folds of that blanket he'd seen the baby. Or not a baby, because it couldn't be. A twisted, misshapen figure, twiglike limbs hanging from the folds of the blanket, an engorged head dimpled and pockmarked like the surface of the moon, a skull-like face the size of an adult's peering back at him with deadened eyes.

And blood. Blood, everywhere. Pressed against the wall half a room away, Harry couldn't look away from the cot and the bloodbath it held.

It streaked the blankets. It lathered the figures arms, its head and face, cast into a glistening sheen that reflected the candlelight. Where the light struck it just right was bone, protruding bone, spearing through paper-thin skin too smeared in clotting blood.

A body, but it wasn't breathing. A child, but it didn't look like a child, more like a flayed homunculus in a bed of its own seeping fluids. It was horrible. It was pathetic, and miserable and – horrible. Harry couldn't look away, even as he pressed himself against the wall as if to seep into and through it.

Another whimper passed through his fingers, and Harry couldn't even think to stifle it properly. He didn't care, was too fixated upon the image from a horror movie that was so present, so real, he swore he could smell the blood and rotting skin itself. Or at least he didn't care until the creak of movement across the room drew his attention.

He hadn't noticed the bed, either. He hadn't noticed a lot of things, but most importantly was the bed. Hazy, exhausted, and hurting as he was, Harry's nerves immediately became bowstring tight. Freezing against the wall, he watched wide-eyed and shaking – scared, so scared – as the patched blankets of the bed were flipped aside, a thin, pale arm flung free.

When Bellatrix lifted her head from the thin pillow, Harry almost sobbed.

"What's that?" she asked, blinked enormous, dark eyes open and squinting across the room. "My Lord? Is it -? Are you -?"

In a scramble that had Harry backpedalling further across the room, Bellatrix lurched from her bed. "Alive," she spluttered. "I knew it, I knew I hadn't failed, I knew you'd return!"

Then she stopped.

She saw him. Harry knew it, even before she properly turned his way. The way she froze, her feverish expression stilling and her body becoming rigid, spoke everything he needed to hear. Slowly, like the mechanics of an inhuman robot working cogs and gears to twist its head, she turned towards him.

Her eyes narrowed. Her lip curled. A serpentine hiss sprayed flecks of spittle from her mouth. "Boy," she growled.

Harry shook his head. He didn't know why, but desperation, had him shaking his head in fervent plea. "Please," he croaked, the word muffled by his fingers still clamped across his mouth. "Please, I –"

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" Bellatrix asked, stepping towards him.

"I just – I just want to –"

"You think you can get away? You think that you can stop me?"

"I just want to go home –"

"Nothing will stop the Lord's return, boy, and your filthy blood will make it happen!"

Bellatrix leapt towards him, but Harry didn't wait to be caught. Not this time. He didn't think to flee, but his body did it for him. Shaking and exhausted as he was, his legs moved and he was throwing himself across the room in escape.

A door. There was a door here, somewhere, surely.

Bellatrix shrieked as Harry stumbled into the table. She shouted a hoarse cry as he nearly tripped over the cauldron. When Harry spun towards the opposite end of the room – the long room, far longer than he'd realised it was – he heard the distinct enunciation of a spell and instinctively ducked.

Something exploded. Something shattered. The room seemed to rumble, shaken by magic.

Pushing himself from the ground, Harry threw himself across the room. He didn't look over his shoulder, didn't spare a second to glance to where he could hear her, could hear the madwoman all but breathing down his neck, and desperately scrambled for escape.

"Please," he said, or maybe he just thought it. "Please, just – just take me away!"

Bellatrix flung another smell. Something smashed. A gust of searing warmth swept towards Harry and he tripped. But he didn't fall. Not to the floor. Wooden floorboards didn't speed towards him to smash into his face but… nothing. Nothing but the feeling of falling, and then of crushing. The crushing, suffocating embrace of… of…

Magic.

Harry had always hated the feeling of Apparition from the very moment Draco had first pulled him into it. But in that moment, the suffocating weight of it was the most wondrous feeling in the world.

* * *

Where magic left him, Harry didn't know.

The ground left bruises on his knees. Or at least Harry thought they were bruises. Maybe the skin had split. Maybe he was bleeding through his jeans – his filthy, blood-stained jeans that he'd worn for days, and days, and days…

Harry didn't pause to check. He didn't stop to make sure. He hadn't stopped from the moment he'd crashed into wherever he'd landed, slammed to the ground with the force of a giant's hand pinning him down. It had been a struggle, had taken a nearly insurmountable effort, but he'd pushed himself to his feet.

Then he walked. He trudged, one foot before the other. He couldn't look up, couldn't raise his gaze, because the world was spinning around him, the edges of his vision darkened and blurred, and he couldn't look away from the ground before his feet, the mess of twigs and leaves, in case it went away. He barely dared to blink.

Seconds. Minutes. Maybe hours, but Harry didn't think so. Or he didn't think so. It was hard to tell if he thought properly at all, but –

_Walk. Get away. Wherever you are, you have to get away._

Harry's head throbbed. His forearm ached. His knees wobbled, knocking against one another with every step. He nearly tripped over his own toes as his feet dragged across the ground, but –

_Keep going. In case she follows, you have to keep going. Go home, go home, go…_

Harry didn't know where he was and that scared him, but he was used to being scared now. His vision was darkening, and that was worrying too, but only scary. Nothing more. When he blinked one final time and his eyes stayed closed, that was the scariest of all, because sight of the ground disappeared, his knees gave way, and he slumped to the dirt floor in an exhausted heap. Only his hands, arms trembling as they held him up, stopped him from keeling face first into the ground.

 _I just want to go home,_ he thought pitifully, the only thought that really made sense. When the suffocating, crushing weight of Apparition hit him once more, he wasn't surprised. He even welcomed it.

* * *

A dog barked.

"Harry!"

Darkness. Night. The clatter of claws on bitumen, the heavy pants of an animal racing his way.

"Oh Merlin. Harry!"

Harry's head spun. The ground above him – below him, maybe – seemed to rock like the deck of a ship. He grasped it with fingers curling into the rough ground, and the flash of pain as skin split raked across the roughness. It was helpful more than anything, though. It gave him something to focus upon, was enough that Harry could gather himself to peel his eyes open.

He managed, just in time to see a dog careen towards and into him.

For a second, Harry thought it was PJ, but no. Too big. Black. Fur too messy. Harry leant into that fur nonetheless, sinking against the warmth that buffeted against his numb skin. His eyes threatened to slide closed again, but then –

"Harry! Fuck, Harry, are you -? Talk to me, stay awake, are you -?"

Sirius?

The dog was gone. No, had the dog ever been? In its place, warm and real and _there_ , Sirius knelt. Blinking up at him hazily, Harry reached a feeble hand up to those that grasped both of his shoulders. Skinned knuckles met his stinging fingertips, Sirius' hands trembling where he held him.

"Sirius?" Harry asked, had to confirm, because it seemed almost too good to be true. It was him, wasn't it? Where had the dog gone?

The blurred image of Sirius before him, above him, wavered as Harry's vision flickered. He could hardly see anyway, the distant light of an orange glow – a streetlamp? – the only break in the darkness. Even through that blurriness, though, Sirius' face was a contorted mess of grime and sweat. His fringe stuck to his face in a matted array, teeth bared as he panted and demanded questions that were making less and less sense to Harry's ears.

Sirius squeezed his shoulders. Shook him. Asked of him. And then another voice interrupted, a voice Harry had heard briefly just as he'd landed heavily to the ground.

"Harry! God, oh God, Harry!"

The streetlamp flickered, interrupted by a shadow, and then he was there. Draco was there, collapsing to the ground at Harry's side. Sirius didn't stand a chance, even as adamant as he was, when Draco flung himself at Harry and wrapped his arms around him. His hold was as suffocating as Apparition and felt just as good. With Draco's arms around him, Harry didn't have to try so hard to hold himself upright.

"Oh God," Draco chanted, over and over. "God, oh my god, you're – are you -? Harry, you're –"

Harry's hands fumbled for Draco's sides, fingers sinking into the folds of his jumper and clinging to him. Warm. Stable. Real. It seemed as impossible as everything else, but as Harry's eyes slid closed and he released a shaking breath, he thought he could believe it.


	17. Chapter 17

His head was so heavy, so thick with grogginess, that Harry didn't know that he was awake at first. Everything felt a little surreal, as though he were wrapped in smothering, cloud-like blankets that were more warm and comforting than constrictive.

But he woke. When Harry became aware of that fact, he coaxed his sluggish mind into action and thrust aside the temptation to roll over and sink back into sleep.

Sheets draped over him. Scratchy sheets, but not uncomfortable, exactly. Not like home, but certainly better – more – than he'd had in days. They were warm, too, which was the most important thing. Harry hadn't even realised how cold he'd been until he wasn't anymore.

The mattress wasn't particularly soft, not plush and flexible like his bed, but it was miles better than a wooden floor. The pillow, too. He could give or take the smell of antiseptic, the cloying aroma as thick as if a wad of sterile Vaseline was smeared under his nose, and the rhythmic noises, the muted _beep… beep… beeps_ …

_Oh._

Harry realised where he was before he could put it into tangible thoughts. It took a long time, the length of the struggle to pry his gritty eyes open, before he could put a word to the hospital he was in.

The room was white, sparse, and only dimly lit, as though the windows were covered. Were there even windows? Harry hoped there were. He hoped enough that he found the energy to roll his head on his pillow, to glance around the room – over the half-open curtains hanging around his bed, the machine that produced the beeping sounds – and paused before he found it.

There were only two chairs in the room. Two chairs filled by motionless figures. James, sprawled and limp, his leg hooked over the arm of his chair and head rocked back, glasses askew where he hadn't bothered to take them off. And Lily.

Harry's mother wasn't asleep. From the look of her, Harry didn't think she'd slept in a long time. Smudges of shadow beneath her eyes made her look like she'd had a run-in with a disaster of a makeup artist, and her paleness was so stark that she almost glowed in the dim room. She sat straight backed, hands pinned between her knees, with her unblinking gaze fixed on the floor before her.

It hurt. It hurt to see so badly that Harry almost burst into tears that seemed suddenly all too close to the surface.

Everything that had happened before, every word he'd flung at his parents for hiding magic and the Wizarding world from him, for lying to him, for persisting in denying him the truth, seemed so foolish now. So inconsequential. So cruel and unwarranted, because yes, Harry was angry, had been angry, but not anymore. Not in the face of everything that had followed. He couldn't be, because to see his parents after what had happened felt like the greatest reward in the world.

Reward and punishment. A wash of shame flooded through him to his extremities. His parents hadn't wanted to tell him of the Wizarding world. They didn't want him to be exposed the magic that could be so potentially deadly. Harry hadn't appreciated just how dangerous that magic and the people who wielded it could be, but now… _now…_

 _I was useless. I couldn't do anything, not until my own magic kicked in._ Swallowing thickly, Harry squeezed his eyes closed. He might understand the need to keep as far away from that danger as possible, but if he'd only known how to use the magic, would things have been different? Could he have done more? Fought back?

The fear still sat within him. Fear like a tattoo and just as permanent. Harry wondered if it would ever go away.

Shivering before it, he deliberately closed the box on the influx of memories. The shadow of terror that sat to close on the borders of his awareness for comfort. Instead, Harry struggled to push himself upright. Swallowing again, his throat sore and dry, he managed to produce little more than a croak.

"Mum?"

Lily's head snapped up. Her eyes flared. In an instant, as though she'd Apparated to Harry's bed, his mother was at his side and leaning over him. Her hands cupped the sides of his head, her forehead dropping to rest against his temple, and she exhaled a warm, shaking breath that felt like a soothing balm on Harry's cheek.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, her voice shaking as much as her breath. "I am so, so sorry."

Harry couldn't find the words to reply. He couldn't tell her that it didn't matter, that he didn't care, and that he was sorry too. With a feeble, wavering hand, he could only cling to his mother's shirt and rest his head back against hers.

Safe. Nothing felt quite as safe as when he was with Lily. Out of everyone, Harry felt like she'd always been the one to protect him.

* * *

_"Tell me everything."_

_"Harry…"_

_"Please. After all of this, don't I deserve to know?"_

_"It's… complicated."_

_"I know. But it's also complicated that I'd get abducted by a crazy person and have no understanding of why."_

_"Harry –"_

_"I'm not angry anymore. I promise, I'm not. Mum, Dad – I just want to know."_

_"I… we…"_

_"Please?"_

_"… Alright. Yes, alright. We'll tell you."_

* * *

"Does it really have to be right now? I'm kind of tired."

At Harry's words, the police officers exchanged glances. At least he thought they were police officers. They weren't wearing the kinds of uniforms that he'd seen James and Sirius wear, and there had been no identification badge flashed upon entering the room to prove who they were. Except that Harry's parents – and Sirius and Remus – clearly knew them.

"Emmeline," Lily had said to the woman as soon as she'd stepped into the room. "You got here quickly."

"Seven days is hardly quickly to chase down a kidnapping," the woman said. She was tall, thin, her hair pulled back in a severe tail, and she carried an air of competence about her that would have convinced Harry of her status even if she hadn't claimed she was 'an authority'. "You're a difficult family to find."

"We kept it that was for a reason," James said, folding his arms where he stood at Harry's bedside. Somehow, it sounded almost a petulant denial of wrongdoing.

"Still," Emmeline said, "if you hadn't disappeared so completely off the radar, assistance might have been offered more swiftly."

"We keep up with the _Prophet,_ " Sirius said from across the room, a growl underlying his words. "There was nothing about escaped Death Eaters to be seen. It wasn't like anyone even knew we'd need the help."

"That would be because the nature of the Death Eater's escape was unknown until only recently. Lestrange's means of escape is still in the process of being discerned –"

"Are we really going to talk about this?" Remus asked, glancing up from where his hands were clasped on his knees. He looked to be about the only person in the room who was calmly composed, though Harry was given the impression that his seemingly comfortable seat wasn't quite as comfortable as he made it look. "I'm sure this is classified information." He tipped his head in the direction of the man at Emmeline's shoulder. "Shacklebolt. Always a pleasure."

The tall, broad man only inclined his head in solemn acknowledgement before glancing towards Emmeline to continue. For herself, Emmeline seemed to have taken Remus' words to heart; her lips puckered and eyes narrowed, but she gave a curt nod before turning to Harry.

Harry could only stare at her. The small hospital room felt cluttered with so many bodies – his parents like sentinels on either side of his bed, Sirius skulking in the corner and Remus in his chair – and the two officers' entrance only added to the effect. Harry still felt a little light-headed, a little groggy after waking up only an hour before, and the intrusion wasn't helping.

He wanted to see his friends. He wanted to talk more to his parents, to Sirius and Remus, and to pick their brains for an explanation. Most of all, however, he wanted to be sure that Bellatrix, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, wouldn't come for him again.

It was the only reason he could abide the forbiddance of having a rest or, better yet, seeing and talking to his friends who Sirius had told him had been waiting outside the door since he'd checked into the hospital. Thought of Bellatrix, though, of what she might do and how easily she could appear and wreak havoc, was enough to send a chill through Harry's to his bones, to send a shiver rippling across his skin. Tucking his knees up before him, Harry locked his arms around his shins and turned his attention to the officers.

"Alright, then. What do you need know?"

As it turned out, 'quite a lot' was the easy way of putting it. When Harry had first seen Bellatrix, how she'd abducted him, what had happened since, and where he'd been taken. Why she'd done what she had, as though Harry even knew himself, and how Harry had escaped, as though he could even tell them.

It was one of the most awkward interviews he'd ever had, and that was including the many 'talks' on utterly embarrassing subjects with his parents. It wasn't only because he had to cut and paste around the many instances of magic. Not only that Harry found the questions sickening, turning his gut, or that he couldn't help but cringe as he described the room, described how he'd gotten the cut now wrapped beneath bandages. It was more than that.

It hurt because his mother became progressively paler than she already was throughout the questioning. Because his father flinched when he spoke of the wound on his arm, his hand dropping to Harry's shoulder and squeezing almost painfully tightly. Because Sirius muttered a nearly constant string of curses under his breath, and because Remus' heavy sigh when Harry's voice stuttered and gave out time and again spoke of a heavy misery that no words could encompass.

Just as much, the questions were horrible in that Harry relieved each moment he never wanted to consider again. How terrified he'd been, and how the terror hadn't quite left him. How he'd thought he was going to die, that he would never escape and that Bellatrix would kill him. That he'd never be able to see his family and friends again, never get to apologise for being an utter jerk as the last thing his parents had seen of him.

"When you say you felt like she was a danger to you even when the door was closed," Emmeline began at one moment, but Harry didn't hear the res. He was drawn back to the feeling of being in the dark room, of Bellatrix railing just outside the door, thuds of heavy objects crashing against walls and sometimes the door itself, and the memory of pleading that would diffuse before she next came into the room.

Harry was exhausted within minutes. By the time a full hour had passed, he was about ready to curl up on the uncomfortable hospital mattress and retreat into sleep for another few decades. Quiet, calm, safe sleep, with the comfort of his family around him to chase away any threats. His heavy gaze dropping down to the crook of his elbow, to the cannula channelling fluids into his veins lying cool and thin against his arm, he silently prayed that it would be over. That Emmeline and Shacklebolt, or whatever their names were, would be done.

It seemed that, in this instance as they hadn't been for all the days he'd been imprisoned in the dark room, his prayers were answered.

"Alright then, Mr. Potter," Emmeline said, nodding sagely. "I think we'll leave it at that for the moment. We shall return with further questions if necessary. Lily, James – I'm sure Dumbledore will send you a missive at some point. Keep a weather eye open."

Harry only vaguely heard James' reply, but not because of his weariness. Glancing up at Emmeline, he watched as she spoke, as she inclined her head towards Harry one last time, before leading Shacklebolt from the room.

_Potter. She said Potter. As in…? Does she mean like what Draco…?_

"Harry, I'm so sorry," James said, his cracking words. The squeeze of his hand on Harry's shoulder drew Harry back from his thoughts. Glancing up at him, Harry saw his eyes glazed with a film of tears. "I'm so, so sorry that you – that you had to –"

He broke himself off, exhaling harshly. Lily didn't speak but instead folded herself over Harry once more, arms around his neck as they'd been almost the entire time since he'd woken. The closeness, having the constancy of her touch, was more appreciated that Harry had ever thought it could be.

Except that he couldn't sink into it and forget it all. He couldn't forget Emmeline's words, either.

"It wasn't all of it," Harry found himself saying. "I left a lot out."

James' hand twitched on his shoulder. Remus glanced towards him, and Sirius finally stopped in his intermittent curses. Drawing away from his mother slightly, Harry didn't think it was his imagination that she seemed almost wary.

"What do you mean?" she asked, though her tone said she already knew the answer to her question.

"The rest of it," he said, his voice unconsciously lowering. "About the magic."

That no one in the room so much as twitched was very telling.

"You know it. All of you do. It's how she took me away in the first place."

Nothing but silence.

"It's how I got away, too."

Still nothing.

Harry swallowed thickly. He truly wasn't angry anymore. He didn't think he could be. But even without the anger, the need was still there. He had to know. "You have to explain it to me, because otherwise I'm not going to get it. Tell me about the magic."

For a long pause, the silence persisted. Harry watched Lily and James exchange a split-second glance, the same glance that Sirius and Remus shared. He didn't speak, didn't push further, and this time was rewarded for his patience when Lily finally, finally drew breath to speak.

* * *

_"Hell. I mean… Bloody hell."_

_"In this instance, I think that assessment is perfect."_

_"A prophecy? About some Dark Lord and me?"_

_"It's less absurd in the world of magic than it sounds."_

_"No, that's – fuck that, I'm pretty sure it sounds absurd in any world."_

_"Ha. Maybe you're right."_

_"So, he wanted to kill me?"_

_"H-he did."_

_"And you stopped him?"_

_"Somehow. Perhaps. No one quite understands how, but he was stopped."_

_"And destroyed? You said that the guy, that wizard guy – Dumble…?"_

_"Dumbledore, yes. The most powerful wizard of our time. He claimed that there might be route for his return, but he committed himself years ago to ensuring that wouldn't happen."_

_"Oh. So… maybe that was why…"_

_"Why what?"_

_"Bellatrix. She kept saying – really pushing – that she was going to bring him back."_

_"Oh."_

_"Yeah. Oh."_

* * *

"You're not going to pass out or anything if I hug you, are you?" Jackie asked. "Damn, I always said you were a skinny runt to begin with, but seriously? Are you trying to prove me wrong?"

Drawing his gaze from where his parents had secluded themselves in the corner of the room, Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Sure, Jackie, that's exactly what I'm doing."

Jackie grinned crookedly, but he could see the concern warring with relief in her eyes. Jackie wasn't nearly so hard-hearted as she pretended to be; like Harry, she cared for precious few people, but those people she'd put her life on the line for.

Just like Jill, for that matter, who had perched herself on the end of Harry's bed as soon as she'd come in, crossing her legs as she turned towards him with an open-face and a gentle touch to his foot. Draco too; he stood rigidly at Harry's side, as straight backed and blank-faced as the first time Harry had met him.

It wasn't a nice thing to see. Not at all. But Harry would have to fix whatever was going on there when they had time alone. With Jackie and Jill present, with his parents just across the room, it wasn't right. He desperately wanted to, but no. Not yet.

Instead, Harry settled for reaching for Draco's hand, and could let his pent breath ease when Draco immediately took it.

"I think Sirius is planning on buying out the entire cafeteria," Jackie said when she eventually released Harry from her crushing embrace. "He seemed way too enthusiastic on the way out."

"Remus is going with him," Jill said. "He'll rein him in."

"It would be funny, though, to watch him try. He'd do it if you dared him, too."

"And then sit there eating most of it, yes."

The girls shared a moment of laughter that sounded a little forced, but Harry didn't mind. His interview with the officers had been awkward, so it wasn't as though he was expecting the one with his friends to be any better.

Still, he'd bloody-well try. He'd try his best to pretend that he wasn't still walking a tightrope between dissolving into hysterical, flailing terror and sinking into exhausted sleep.

"How long have you guys been waiting outside?" Harry asked. "Dad said I was asleep for something like a day and a half –"

"Yep," Jackie said, folding her arms across her chest. "You lazy bum."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No, seriously. Did you know you missed out on school?"

"Really? No shit, Jackie."

Jackie smirked. "Damn hide of you, disappearing and all just to skive off school. And our goddamn presentation. You prat."

She tossed it out there so casually – 'disappearing' – and yet it somehow didn't sting when worded as such. Not when it came from Jackie, and not when it was so deliberately vague. Maybe it wouldn't have helped another person, but Harry found that it worked for him.

"Oh, poor you," he said, "you had to actually do some work after Draco and I practically researched and wrote the entire project and presentation."

"Hey, I did work! I read books!"

"You spent most of your time trying to chat up Pansy by showing her gruesome pictures of torture scenes," Draco said dryly, the first he'd spoken since entering the room. Harry flashed him an encouraging smile and was rewarded again when Draco offered a small one in return.

"Which you didn't even use," Jackie said, glaring at him with a huff. "I can't believe you didn't use anything I researched."

"I might be wrong," Jill said, "but I don't think torture is necessarily directly related to magic. Is it?"

"They're both medieval, aren't they?"

"Did you not read any of the presentation, even though you presented?" Draco asked. "Because I'm suspecting not. You certainly did a poor performance."

"About as bad as you did," Jackie said, and the unspoken elephant in the room remained unacknowledged. Harry doubted he would have performed well either if their roles had been reversed.

"Jackie's actually allergic to reading anything but gore," he said lightly. "I worked that out years ago."

"Too right I am. Shame on you for discrediting my allergies."

Harry laughed. It was as forced as Jackie and Jill's had been, but it felt good. Nice to be able to talk and think – if only mostly think – of something other than the past few days. Over a week, it had been. Harry almost couldn't believe it.

They spoke for a time. Jill of her own presentation, which she apparently wasn't allowed to partake in after Mrs. Joyce finally seemed to realise that she wasn't actually a C&C student. Abel had been in a near-panic as a result.

"Or as much of a panic as Abel gets," Jill said with an impish smile. "Hermione came to the rescue though. She's so smart, and she's basically led the entire project anyway. They didn't have any problems."

Jackie spoke of school too, though her own input was speckled with everything from her letters to Pansy, her sleeplessness – "which is all your fault, Harry, just so you know" – and how her parents had made her actually go to school only a couple of the days into Harry's absence.

Harry listened more than he spoke. Even as weariness weighed upon his shoulders, the company of his friends was doing him wonders. Nothing was fixed yet, and everything hadn't returned to normal, but it gave him hope that it might get there. Maybe.

Throughout it all, Draco stood almost silently at his side. He held Harry's hand in a warm clasp, their fingers linked, and Harry pretended that he didn't feel it tremble.

* * *

_"So you knew? All this time, you knew I had magic."_

_"I'm sorry, sweetheart."_

_"I…"_

_"We couldn't tell you. We made a commitment when Voldemort came for you: we promised that we'd keep you safe, even if it meant keeping you in ignorance."_

_"But… but I…"_

_"It's been hard, Harry. So hard. You have no idea how much we wanted to tell you, especially with all you've been through."_

_"All I've been through?"_

_"Yeah. Everything, kiddo. The first time you did accidental magic and we had to explain it away?"_

_"Accidental -?"_

_"You probably don't remember it, but you flew down the stairs when you were three."_

_"Bloody hell."_

_"Nearly gave your poor mum a heart attack."_

_"I really did that?"_

_"Mm. And then you started practicing magic – the tricks and sleight of hand – and damn, I remember the first time you showed Sirius. He just about had a heart attack too."_

_"That was with the spoons, wasn't it? I remember. Looking back on it, I think I thought he was just really excited about my tricks."_

_"He swore it was real magic. Remus had to explain it to him, you know. Sirius wouldn't believe it from me –"_

_"Or from me, though I don't know why I got undermined. I've always been more reliable than your dad when it came to pranks."_

_"Don't lie. You're the worst culprit because no one ever suspects you."_

_"Perhaps. I do like to keep you on your toes."_

_"Draco… When I first showed him, he had the same sort of reaction."_

_"Right. Draco. Your boyfriend."_

* * *

When Harry's friends left, Draco followed after them. He lingered only for a moment in the doorway, and Harry, heavy-eyed and already half asleep, gave him a smile.

"I'll see you later?" he said, more a question than a promise.

Draco's lips twitched, an attempt at returning his smile, and he nodded. "Sleep well. I'll visit this afternoon." Then he left.

Without Draco, Jackie, and Jill, without Sirius and Remus back just yet, the room felt unexpectedly hollow. Flopped back on his pillow, fighting then failing to suppress a yawn, Harry glanced to his parents. Only to find them both watching him keenly.

"Hm?" he asked.

James' eye twitched, and Lily regarded him sidelong. It was all the explanation that Harry needed as to what had driven those stares. Closing his eyes, he released a long breath. "I swear, Dad, if you're going to get on my back about Draco then I'm seriously going to throw something at you. I promise, I'll do it."

"I wouldn't," James replied, though when Harry cracked an eye open, he saw him start guiltily.

"Because you're okay with it now, or because I'm in a hospital bed?" Harry asked, and that guilt hitched James' shoulders further.

Lily shook her head, turning back towards Harry. "It was a surprise," she said, "but I'm delighted for you, Harry. At the end of the day, any negativity his name might have holds barely a candle of importance against the greater fire."

"Thanks, Mum," Harry mumbled, only half sarcastically.

Lily didn't quite manage a smile, but it was close. "He seems lovely, Harry."

"Really?"

She nodded. "He's been here since you checked in, you know. And since you disappeared, I doubt he's slept a wink more than I have. He helped look for you with the rest of us, too. Out every night."

Somehow, it didn't surprise Harry. Not in the least. Draco was special, after all. He was trying so hard to _be_ a better person, from his prejudice against Muggles and Muggleborns to helping Harry through his own struggles. Whether it was natural to him or something he'd only explored since he and Harry had been dating was uncertain, but that he tried at all meant something.

Harry could still remember, as one of the only vivid memories from the past few days, the moment he'd found Sirius. Or Sirius had found him, rather. He remembered the dog, which might have been a sniffer dog, PJ, or a figment of his imagination, and he remembered his uncle grabbing him as he crumpled to his knees. He remembered Draco, his Draco, appearing as if from nowhere seconds later, the reassurance of his presence, the relief of having two of his most important people within his reach.

If Harry needed proof that Draco was special, he didn't have to look far.

"I really like him," Harry said, closing his eyes once more. "I don't care what family he comes from, or what his parents did in the war, or – or –" He paused, yawning, and sighed as he slipped towards sleep.

"Yeah, yeah," James said, and Harry was given the detached impression that Lily had nudged him into speaking. "Maybe he isn't so bad after all."

When Harry drifted to sleep, it was with a smile playing upon his lips. It felt like the first he'd really managed in a long time.

* * *

_"James, we're not having this discussion."_

_"I know, it's just – really, Harry? A Malfoy?"_

_"Hey, he's hot."_

_"That's no excuse!"_

_"It kind of is, James."_

_"Sirius, stay the fuck out of this."_

_"James."_

_"No, Lily, come on. Really?"_

_"Hey, maybe he's a good one? A black sheep of the family, like me? Malfoys and Blacks can't all be bad, can we?"_

_"I resent you saying that, Sirius. Remus is the only reason you didn't fly off the rails in school."_

_"Hey, I was good before that! And we're not talking about me, we're talking about the little Malfoy shit –"_

_"He's my boyfriend, you know. And I really like him, so could you all, like, shut the hell up?"_

_"… Sorry."_

_"Yeah. You should be. Because he's kind of wonderful, and I really like him, and – and he's really helped me to, you know… sort things out. When I've had trouble with stuff."_

_"I assume you're not talking about school stuff?"_

_"No, definitely not. I… I never knew how hard dating would be to get my head around. I thought I was good with it, and being gay, but… but it was really…"_

_"Theory and practice are entirely different things. You can't judge yourself for acting discordantly with your thoughts. That you pushed through them is the most important thing."_

_"Thanks, Remy."_

_"I think I regret that most of all. Growing up Muggleborn, when you came out to your father and I, it was the first time I thought that we could have made the wrong decision about you. That you would have been better off in the Wizarding world. Muggles can be cruel in many cases that witches and wizards wouldn't flinch."_

_"Mum –"_

_"No, I accept that possibility, Harry. All I've ever wanted was to protect you, but what you've had to face for simply being who you are? Perhaps that was worse than anything you've have encountered of the Wizarding world."_

_"You can't think like that, Lily. No one can ever know what the alternative would be. There's no way of knowing if Harry would have been better off, especially with the Death Eaters only just being wiped out."_

_"Or not wiped out, as it happens. But thank you, Remus. You're certainly being the voice of reason today."_

_"Then let me be again: where are we going from here? Because I don't believe that things should stay as they are."_

_"That's not even a question, is it?"_

_"Sirius –"_

_"No, hold up. Harry knows now. He knows it all. You can't keep pretending he's blind, or that the rest of the world is blind to where he is anymore, and let him go on as he has. Muggleborns don't get that kind of treatment, and he's not even that. He's not an idiot and he's too stubborn to accept anything but the obvious solution."_

_"Thanks, Sirius."_

_"I've got your back, Bambi. But come on; James, Lily, you have to see the only way out from here, right?"_

_"I…"_

_"Lily?"_

_"James, I don't…"_

_"Lily, Sirius is right."_

_But –"_

_"Mum. Come on. Even I can see there's no other alternative. I… Look, I can't have that happen again. I was so goddamn useless, but if I'd known how to defend myself then maybe – maybe I could have… I don't know, but please. Please let me do this."_

* * *

It was a whole two days before Harry's parents left the room together. Two days before Harry was given the privacy of Draco's sole company. He couldn't bring himself to resent either of his parents for it; Lily looked so nervous, so tense, at the prospect of leaving that Harry had to impress upon her both the proximity of the nurse's station and the cell phone Sirius had retrieved for him only the day before.

"Besides, Draco's with me," Harry said as his parents fidgeted with obvious reluctance in the doorway. "If anything happens, I'm sure he'll go and get you."

James didn't look convinced, appeared perhaps even slightly more uneasy with the suggestion, but Lily regarded Draco with attention previously reserved only for Harry. She slowly inclined her head. "I'd appreciate it if you would, Draco."

Draco nodded immediately. "Of course, Mrs. Evans. In an instant."

"Expressly instantaneously," James said, jabbing a finger at him with such obvious undertones that Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I don't care if this is a Muggle hospital –"

"Dad," Harry attempted to interrupt.

"Harry, I mean it. In an instant."

Draco nodded sharply once more and Harry sighed, shaking his head. "You're both being a little excessive, aren't you?"

The look Lily and James spared him, pointed and reprimanding, said otherwise. Harry supposed he should have expected it.

"They're worried about you," Draco said when Harry's parents finally left. "Of course they are. They have a good reason to be."

"I know," Harry muttered, frowning down at his hands. "It's not like I don't understand how they feel. To be honest, I don't really want them going too far away either at the moment. It might be clingy, but –"

"Understandable," Draco said. He reached a hand for Harry's as his fingers tangled between themselves. "It hasn't been so long as for anyone to be okay with it just yet."

"I'm not even hooked up to the IV anymore," Harry said. "The nurse I talked to this morning said I could go home tomorrow if I'm feeling well enough."

"Even so."

"Yeah." Harry sighed again. "Mum's always been overprotective. I don't know how she'll go with everything after this."

"Again, understandably. It was a… a horrible thing. Any parent would be terrified."

There was something in Draco's voice, an extra layer that drew Harry's attention. Raising his gaze, he met Draco's eyes where he realised he must have been staring at him for some time. That extra layer became a weight, and Harry thought he might understand it just a little.

"Hey," he said quietly, squeezing Draco's hand. "You okay?"

Draco's jaw worked. His expression remained smooth, but only because of its tightness. The longer Harry waited, the tighter it became until finally he sighed, his shoulders slumping, and lowered his eyes to their hands. "I'm sorry."

Harry blinked. "You're sorry? What the bloody hell for?"

"For everything. That this happened to you –"

"It wasn't your fault, Draco."

"She's my aunt." Draco's words were strangled, catching in his throat. "She was - she –"

"So?" Harry squeezed Draco's hands even harder until he finally raised his gaze towards him. "So what? What does that count for anything?"

"If it wasn't me you were dating –"

"Yeah, well, if it wasn't me who _you_ were dating, you wouldn't have to struggle so much with my dad being an arsehole for stupid, prejudiced reasons," Harry overrode him. "It's the same thing."

"No, it's not," Draco said. "What if it's because of me that she knew where you were at all? It's possible. She _is_ my aunt."

Harry sighed. He should have expected it, maybe. Should have seen that Draco would think in such a way. For all that Draco was proud and defensive of his status as a pureblood, he'd grown increasingly open and reasonable about touchy subjects. He'd even spoken of Bellatrix when he'd first seen the poster of her upcoming 'punishment' in Diagon Alley, whatever that entailed.

It didn't matter, wasn't related, but Harry couldn't help but hunch his shoulders slightly at the thoughts provoked. Bellatrix hadn't been found. Not yet. There were people on her tail, wizard police – aurors, as Sirius had corrected him – and they would find her. They _would._ But there was still no explanation as to how she had found Harry in the first place. Nothing besides "there are spells that can be used for such purposes" and "some diviners believe there are ways", as if that explained anything.

Harry couldn't help but feel as though he had to keep one eye constantly glancing over his shoulder, and the feeling remained even in his dreams. He'd woken more than once with a feeling of urgency, of terror, and the certainty that someone was looming just out of sight. Harry wasn't sure how long the feeling would last. He wasn't even sure he wanted it to go away.

"Does that change things, then?" Harry asked, his voice low. "Between us?"

"What?" Draco asked, lifting his chin as though torn from his melancholic thoughts.

"Does that mean you don't want to date me anymore? Because of what happened?"

Draco stared at him. For a long moment, incomprehension replaced his solemnity. Then it cleared into surprise and just a little urgency. "No! No, not at all! Why would you -? How could you even think -?"

"Then it doesn't matter." Harry pasted a smile on his face, giving Draco's hand another squeeze. Funny, how even holding Draco's hand had once seemed such a battle of with himself. That battle felt so trivial now. "It doesn't make a difference to me, so it shouldn't to you either."

Draco's mouth opened and closed a number of times before he caught himself and forcibly pressed his lips together. He nodded, but Harry didn't think he was convinced. Whatever nonsensical reasoning had played out in his head, had instilled such a thought in there, wasn't so easily erased. Maybe with time and a little bit of work, just as with Harry's insecurities and discomforts, he would overcome it, but…

Shaking the thought aside, Harry scrapped the subject and deliberately turned to brighter thoughts. "Good thing that you don't plan on dumping me just yet, then. It could make the next few months kind of awkward." At Draco's raised eyebrow, he grinned with a flush of real excitement. "You'll never guess what my parents agreed to."

He was right. Draco hadn't guessed at all.

* * *

_"You're serious?"_

_"Yes. I am."_

_"You really mean it?"_

_"Why are you so surprised when you're the one who claimed it was the only option?"_

_"I just… I didn't think you'd actually… bloody hell!"_

_"How's it feel, kiddo? You're finally going to be a proper, bona fide magician like baby-Harry always wanted to be."_

_"Fuck magician, I'm going to be a wizard. Bloody hell… I'm going to Hogwarts."_


	18. Chapter 18

It was dark in Harry's room and, though a cool breeze whispered through the curtains, he warm. Dark because it was night, and warm because he was sandwiched between two bodies.

Nothing felt quite so comfortable as such warmth. Such stable, supportive warmth. Nothing quite so comfortable as his bed, either. Harry had missed both in his brief bout of being deprived of them, and he missed them already, despite that he hadn't even left it yet. Soon. Such a short time to be returned to such comfort but… soon it would be gone again.

Harry didn't know if he was more excited or terrified. Possibly both, but he was used to the latter by now. Having felt the extreme, the watered down version barely fazed him anymore.

"I'm having your phone."

Snorting, peeling an eye open from where he'd closed them minutes before, Harry met Jackie's gaze through the darkness. The streetlamp outside his window was enough to make out her features down to the disgruntled set of her lips.

"No, you're not," he murmured.

"Fine then," Jackie muttered in reply. "I'll have your Playstation, then."

"You're not having my Playstation either. You've already got one."

"Yeah, but it always dies on me."

"Sirius would be devastated. He'd have nothing to do when he comes over."

"Fine. Then I get at least half of your games."

At Harry's other side, Jill laughed in a whisper. She'd barely spoken for the better part of an hour and Harry had thought she was asleep. He should have known better. Though he'd closed his eyes, he doubted he would manage a wink that night – the last night – and he wouldn't have been surprised if either of his best friends fared any better.

The weeks following his escape from hospital he'd been all but locked indoors. It wasn't only because of Lily and James' insistence, though Harry used it as an excuse the single time Jackie asked him over. If he was being honest, Harry might even admit he didn't really wanted to leave his house either.

There was no threat. Not any longer. But that didn't mean he still struggled to sit in a room he couldn't see a window, or hear the sound of someone else going about their business. Idle comforts quelled the ever-present fear.

"We've got wards set up around the house," James had said the first day Harry had returned from the hospital. "Extra ones on top of the old ones."

"Old ones?" Harry had asked.

"You didn't really think we didn't have any at all, did you?"

Harry supposed he probably shouldn't have. Might not have, even, if he'd known his parents had an inkling of what wards were in the first place.

"We have Alarm Charms stationed along the street," Remus had told him, because of course they would.

"I'll be keeping you guys company for the next few weeks twenty-four seven anyway, just in case," Sirius had added, because of course he would.

"Nothing's going to happen," Lily had said. From the set of her jaw, the little nod of her head, it seemed more for her own benefit than Harry's. "Nothing will happen to you, Harry."

Harry believed them. He did. But he couldn't shake the feeling that 'something' would regardless.

Weeks felt like such a short time. In his hospital bed, considering the days until he would make the move to Hogwarts – to learn magic as he should have already been doing but also to retreat to the added safety that he supposedly no longer needed – it had felt so far away.

It wasn't. It wasn't far at all. Lying in his bed that felt far too small when it hosted three bodies instead of one, Harry wondered just how that time had passed so impossibly quickly. How much everything had changed in so short a time and how he wasn't entirely sure if he was ready for it.

How would he ever leave?

Dropping out of school was a whirlwind of stupefying change, but more to Harry's friends than to Harry himself. "I'll visit as much as I can," Harry had promised, but it hadn't stopped Jill eventually dissolving into tears or Jackie ranting for what felt like hours about abandonment and betrayal.

It did feel a little like he was abandoning them. A little like he was leaving and might not actually come back as he promised, as he knew he would. A little… scary. Like so much was these days.

Harry wouldn't be abducted again. He knew that, but the prospect still scared him.

He knew he would be only an Apparition and momentary, gut-wrenching journey away, but it still felt too long and too far.

He knew he wanted to leave, knew that Potting Point was no longer enough for him, knew that what lay ahead would be more wondrous and exciting than anything he'd ever experienced before –

But it was still terrifying. Harry didn't have nearly as much trouble admitting that as he used to. Not when so much seemed to play upon his nerves these days.

In the warm company of his two best friends, though, he could hide those fears. He could admit that he was sad but also excited. That he would definitely be returning and no, Jackie was not abruptly entitled to all of his belongings. He almost believed himself, too.

"I'm coming back, you know," he said for what must have been the thousandth time that evening. "Literally as much as I can."

"You won't living here, though," Jackie said. "You won't be using your stuff."

"You wouldn't actually use any of my stuff either."

"I would."

"You wouldn't."

"Yeah, I would."

"Jackie –"

"I would, Harry," Jackie said sharply, more sharply than the playful conversation warranted. "I definitely would."

Harry sighed. He knew they were no longer talking of superficial gifts and stolen possessions. The tightening of Jill's arms around his waist where she'd silently taken to holding him since they'd climbed into bed said she knew it too.

They'd spoken repeatedly and at length of the reasons. Between Jackie's curses and Jill's wistful regrets, Harry had tried to explain.

"It's safer in this place," he'd said.

"Safer? At a goddamn boarding school?" Jackie hadn't taken the explanation well. "What, is this like a witness protection program or something?"

"Mum and Dad think it would be for the best," he'd said.

"Then… I suppose we can't argue with that, even if we don't understand," Jill had said, her voice warbling. Jackie didn't cease her objections.

It pained him. Harry cringed whenever Jill offered her teary-eyed acceptance. He hunched his shoulders before Jackie's accusations and for the first time in his life felt the need to apologise for what she blamed him for. She was right, after all. It was for the best, but he really was leaving them behind. Out of everything – from the school he'd never held much fondness for to his family that he all but clung to in the past days – he would miss his friends more than anything.

Which was why he'd decided he would tell them. Damn the consequences, because the two people on either side of Harry had the right to know why.

"I have a good reason," he said as Jackie harrumphed, wriggling in the bed beside him and shuffling a little closer. He'd said the same thing numerous times before but this time… "I promise, I do."

"Right," Jackie said, just as she had each time too. "I've yet to hear it."

"You don't need to explain, Harry," Jill murmured into his back. "Despite what Jackie says, she doesn't need another explanation either."

"I do, actually."

"Jackie."

"No, it's fine, Jill," Harry said, glancing over his shoulder. He caught her eye as she glanced up at him. "You guys should know. This is going to be my life from now on so… so I should –"

"I just don't get it," Jackie muttered. The weight of her hand plucking mulishly on the front of Harry's shirt drew his attention back to her. Her head was bowed but he could still make out her frown through the darkness. "Potting Point is surely safer for you. You dad's the bloody regional police officer."

"It's not just that," Harry said.

"Sirius, too," she continued over the top of him. "Don't pretend they wouldn't take up the job of being your permanent bodyguard if you needed it."

"Jackie –"

"I would."

Harry's words died in his mouth. It was impossible to protest as he had been before the slight trembling of her lip, the determined plucking at his shirt as though she wanted to unravel it in an agitated frenzy. Jackie wasn't one to express herself openly when it came to feelings of vulnerability, but she didn't need to. Harry heard her nonetheless.

Still in Jill's unwavering hold, Harry reached for and tugged Jackie into an embrace of her own. She wasn't one for sentimental hugs, but he knew she appreciated them when she truly needed them. Given the speed her arms latched around him in return, Harry knew it was one of those moments.

"Thanks," he murmured into her ear. It struggled to pass the lump in his throat.

"I don't want you to leave," Jackie replied, the words muffled against his shoulder. "You prat."

"Sorry."

"You shouldn't have to go."

"I sort of do, though."

"But you don't."

There was too much trembling to her voice. Far too much for someone like Jackie. The lump in Harry's throat swelled and, eyes prickling, he knew that, even if he'd been forbidden from doing so, he would do everything in his power to make things better. Even just a little bit of a fix.

"Hogwarts is different," he said, glancing over his shoulder again to include Jill in his words. "It's exactly what I need right now."

"It's isolated," Jill said. "That's probably good."

"That, but also –"

"It's a school for prats," Jackie said, her words little more than a grunt. "Sounds like you'll fit right in."

Harry's brief laugh sounded strangled. "Yeah, probably. But mostly…"

Unwrapping his arms from Jackie and unfastening Jill's from his waist, Harry pushed himself upright. Scooting down the bed slightly, he folded his legs and turned towards them. Jill propped herself up on her elbows, but Jackie only stole his pillow and glared at him, huddling against the headboard.

Harry struggled for a smile. He didn't think he managed any better than Jackie's attempt at accusation.

"Here," he said, holding out a hand. "I want to show you something. Why I have to leave."

Sniffing, he took a breath. Then another. Then, barely audible, whispered, " _Lumos_ ".

It wasn't hard anymore. Easier with a wand, but not as hard as it had been. Impossibly easy compared to what felt so short a time ago, trapped in a room and grasping for the insubstantial tendrils of magic. The effect of it as he conjured it, tingling down his arm and spreading across his palm, was immediate this time.

Magic. Real magic.

The room lit up in pale white light. The shadows scuttled to the corners like creatures of the night and the edges of Harry's desk, his nightstand, his bed, sharpened starkly. Cast aglow, Harry squinted at his palm, at the tiny orb hovering just above his skin, until his eyes adjusted enough to look to his friends.

"This is magic. Real magic, not just tricks. Hogwarts – it's a school for magic."

For a moment, neither of them replied. Jill slowly pushed herself up off her elbows, her eyes wide and staring. Jackie's glare had disappeared, her eyes were just as wide. Pushing herself away from the headboard, she inched across the bed towards Harry.

"That's…"

A pause, and then Jackie lurched towards him, grabbing his wrist and flipping his hand. The _Lumos_ remained hovering over his hand, over the back then the palm again as Jackie twisted it each way.

"What the fuck?" she whispered. "That's not… that's not a trick?"

"That's… impossible," Jill murmured, still unmoving.

Jackie glanced up at Harry. "It's really not a trick?"

Harry shook his head. The shock was to be expected, the disbelief as anticipated as his own, and he was almost relieved to see it from his friends. It was far better than the misery and regret of moments before.

"I can do magic," he said quietly. "Not just the stuff I did as a kid."

"That's…" Jill slowly shook her head. "How?"

"That's impossible," Jackie echoed Jill's words, albeit far more objectionably than Jill had. "That's not – you can't just –"

"Magic is real," Harry said. "Hogwarts teaches people that have the ability to do it how to use it properly. That's why I'm going. I didn't know, not for way too long, that I could but now I do so…"

Silence met his words once more. Jackie still clutched his wrist. Jill still stared. The orb of light pulsed gently above Harry's hand. Then, finally, Jackie released him, her hands falling into her lap with a soft flop.

"Bloody hell," she whispered, slowly drawing her gaze from the _Lumos_. "You can do magic?"

Harry nodded.

"Actual magic?"

Another nod.

"So as a kid you –"

"No." Harry shook his head this time. "That really was just tricks."

"Was it?" Jill asked.

Harry paused before shaking his head. After a moment of thought, he added a shrug. "I think so, but I don't really know. Draco thinks it may have been involved a bit and that's why I could do it so well."

"Draco," Jill murmured, gaze glazing as she lost herself in thought. "So everyone else…?"

"Bloody hell," Jackie said. "Does that mean Pansy can do it too?"

Harry nodded.

Jackie's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as she struggled for words. "She - she didn't tell me."

"She's not allowed to," Harry said.

"Allowed to?" Jill asked.

"It's against Wizarding law."

"Wizarding law?" Jackie scrubbed a hand over her face. "Jesus Christ."

"I don't think he was a wizard, no," Harry said. "Or maybe he was. I guess it would make sense."

"So you're leaving to learn?" Jill said, ignoring his attempt at humour just as Jackie did. Creeping slowly across the bed on all fours, she settled herself at Harry's side again. Her gaze had returned to the light, however, like a magnet to a lodestone. "That's the reason?"

Before Harry could reply, Jackie jumped in. "That can't be it. Why now?"

"Well, I only recently found out," Harry began.

"Is that why you got kidnapped?"

As with every time that anyone referred to or even mentioned his abduction, Harry's stomach clenched. The flux of nausea wasn't quite as fierce as it had been a fortnight or even a week before, but he could still taste the unsavoury tang of bile at the back of his throat.

Misinterpreting Harry's silence – or perhaps correctly interpreting it – Jackie's hands bunched into the blankets beneath her. "Was that person a wizard?" she asked, her voice hushed and slightly hoarse.

Harry swallowed past a different kind of lump in his throat this time. He nodded. While not expressly correct, Jackie was close enough.

"Fuck," she breathed. "That bastard."

"It was a woman, actually," Harry managed. It was the most he'd ever admitted to his friends.

"Bitch, then. Crazy bitch." Jackie's breath hissed between her teeth while Jill returned to wrapping her arms around Harry's waist in her gentle, firm hold. "I hope she rots in hell.

"She probably already is."

Jackie's nod was vehement. "Good. _Good._ "

Then nothing.

For a time, no one said anything. Harry said in Jill's silent embrace, magic still pulsing above his hand. Jackie all but radiated anger in similarly pulsing waves. It did ease, though, and with it too came the return of solemnity. When Jackie did speak once more, it was with a touch of resignation.

"This whole thing is crazy," she said.

Harry nodded.

"But it's good. Right?"

He hadn't anticipated such ready acceptance of the impossible, but Harry nodded once more.

Hands bunching even more tightly, Jackie's jaw worked for a moment before she managed to speak again. "So, you can do magic," she said.

"Yeah," Harry said.

"And Pansy and everyone else at Hogwarts can do magic."

"Right."

"Fuck." She shook her head. "I'm going to haul Pansy through the ringer when I see her on Saturday."

Harry managed a chuckle. "Fair enough. Don't tell anyone else though. It really is supposed to be a secret."

Jackie waved the precaution aside. "Magic is a thing though. A real thing."

She didn't need a reply, Harry knew, but he nodded again nonetheless. "Yeah."

"And I'll bet you can do a trick or two more dangerous than making a light appear. Right?"

It wasn't what Harry had expected to hear from her. Not the direction he'd anticipated she take. But he couldn't deny it, nor that he'd used the same excuse bed-bound in a hospital weeks before.

He didn't need to confirm her supposition, however, because Jackie continued with barely a pause. "Then you should go." Her lips still trembled in the light of the _Lumos_ , but her expression had hardened. "Just for a bit, go and learn your magic tricks. The proper ones. Then at least, if someone like that wizard bitch comes after you again, you'll be able to send them running. Right?"

Harry met her narrowed gaze. It wasn't a question, but she demanded an answer nonetheless. Harry couldn't have denied her even if he'd wanted to.

"You know, I think that's probably one of the only reasons Mum and Dad are letting me go in the first place, so yeah." Harry nodded. "Whatever you want, Jackie."

"Too right," Jackie muttered. "Always knew your mum and dad were smart people. Thinking on the same page as me and all."

"Right. You're a genius."

"You'll come back, though," Jill said before Jackie could utter with continued vehemence. She gave Harry a gentle squeeze. "Even with everything you're going to learn and everyone who'll be learning with you, you'll still come back to us, won't you?"

Harry abandoned his _Lumos_ as he turned to wrap Jill in a returning hug. The room plunged into darkness as he dropped his chin onto her shoulder. "Of course," he said. "No matter how much I need and want to be there, you guys are still my best friends. Always will be."

"Then we'll allow it," Jackie said. The bed bounced as she clambered towards them, and Harry found himself pinned in a double embrace once more as she fell upon him. "You should be grateful I'm letting you have this."

"Thank you, Jackie. It's very gracious of you."

Jackie grunted. "Whatever. I'm still taking your Playstation. You're go off and play with your magic without me? Fine. But it's only fair."

Harry didn't bother fighting her this time. Nodding into Jill's shoulder, he accepted the suffocating hold of his two closest friends without complaint. There'd never been anything to complain about in the first place.

* * *

"You can't be serious," Harry said, glancing between Lily and James where they sat on the carriage, peering through the doorway at him with all the nervousness of the overprotective parents they were.

"Oh, we're dead serious," James said. "And you're coming down to visit on the weekend."

"You can't be…" Harry raised a hand to cover his face and released a harsh sigh.

It shouldn't really surprise him. Not given both who his parents were and the events of the past few weeks. So much had changed; Harry supposed he couldn't expect them all not to change with it. But this? They're rented a house in the town alongside Hogwarts? It wasn't even like he would attending for long.

But maybe he should have expected that, too. After all, everything else had been turned on its head.

Visiting Diagon Alley to finally, _finally,_ purchase the wand that Draco had offered to outfit him with what felt like so long ago was unnerving, though more because Harry's entire family, uncles included, saw it as an opportunity to educate him on a part of the Wizarding world he'd already seen.

"I take it back," Sirius had said when Harry admitted to his visit with Draco. "James, I agree with you; the Malfoy kid's a right little fucker for taking Harry before we could."

And that was to say nothing of the shopkeeper Ollivander's words when he'd handed Harry the holly and phoenix feather wand. "Very curious," he'd murmured, "that you, young sir, would be the owner of that wand in particular. Curious indeed."

James, naturally, had asked what was so curious about it. Neither he nor any of the rest of them had liked the answer.

Getting equipped for the few months of magic school that Harry would be attending – a few months only at Hogwarts, as had been decided with the current headmaster, before progressing elsewhere to continue his learning – had made it real and daunting. Flipping through the heavy tomes of his his textbooks that were so thick with jargon that Harry could barely read a sentence without being more confused than when he'd started only added to the effect. Packing his essentials, shipping them off to Hogwarts, and then finally leaving – it had all passed over the span of a day that felt like a matter of minutes.

And now Harry's parents were telling him that they'd rented a house?

"How are you even affording that?" Harry asked, simply because he had to know. "Did you sell the other house or something?"

"What? No, of course not," James said. "Your mum and I still work in Potting Point."

"Then how -?"

"Ministry support," Lily explained. "We got given a grant for the exceptional circumstances. It's very considerate of them."

She spoke with a scowl, and Harry didn't need to ask where it came from. Lily had been unwaveringly infuriated with the lack of apology the magical Ministry – aptly named the Ministry of Magic, as Harry had only recently learned – had afforded them in response to Harry's abduction. Maybe the grand was an alternative to claiming any kind of responsibility? From what Harry knew of governments and covering politician arses, it wasn't unlikely.

Shaking his head, Harry took a step back from the carriage. The horse-less and engine-less carriage, as he'd dubiously realised upon first seeing it. When he'd first Apparated with his parents to the township of Hogsmeade – because his parents could Apparate, an 'of course they can' moment that still stunned Harry to consider – the town itself had seemed remarkably plain. Blessedly so, for Harry's nerves had been taught since the moment he'd awoken that morning from a mostly sleepless night.

The carriage was the first display of magic he'd seen, and even that was unremarkable next to every other spell he'd ever seen.

"Whatever," he said. "The weekend, right?"

"The weekend," James said with a nod, though Lily's lips thinned at the prospect.

"And make sure you send me owls every evening," she blurted out an instant later.

"Mum –"

"Harry, we agreed on this. You won't be able to use your phone with the magical interferences so that means you have to send owls."

"Every evening?"

Lily nodded, and Harry sighed. He knew she wouldn't back down from such a restriction. Hogwarts might be just about the safest place in the world for anyone facing a magical threat but it apparently wasn't safe enough for Lily. Harry didn't think being clad in bubble-wrap and locked in a bulletproof safe would be safe enough for her, even when Bellatrix found.

"Right," Harry said finally, swinging the carriage door closed. "Whatever. Just don't blame me if you get midnight owls or something when I forget."

"You won't forget," Lily said, a warning rather than vote of confidence.

"Yeah, yeah. Go home, both of you."

James smiled crookedly, but Lily's face only tightened. As the carriage, by some unspoken command, lurched into motion, she leaned out the open window. "Don't forget I love you," she called.

"Have I ever?" Harry asked.

"Let me know immediately if something happens and you need me."

"Mum –"

"I'll come out of work and drop by, I promise. It's just an Apparition away."

"Mum, you don't –"

"And if you're ever worried about anything, or feel like you need to come home, you make sure you do, alright?"

Her voice was growing distant as the carriage took her away, and in spite of himself, Harry couldn't withhold the resurgence of nerves wreaking havoc in his belly. It wasn't like they'd be far away; Lily would make sure of it. But it really hadn't been so long since everything had happened. The promise of safety behind wards meant nothing to uncontrollable emotions.

Shoving them aside, Harry raised a hand to wave farewell. The clatter of wheels died before Lily's returning wave did. Harry was fairly sure she kept waving even when the carriage took a turn in the road.

"Honestly," Harry muttered, "it's like she's dropping off a pre-schooler rather than a kid who, by all magical rights, is actually considered an adult."

"She's worried, and not without reason. I suppose you can't really blame her."

Glancing sidelong, Harry met Draco's gaze. Standing in his robes – actual robes the likes that Harry still couldn't believe he'd have to wear himself – he looked like he was trying to bite back a smirk. It wouldn't be uncharacteristic of him. In fact, if anything, it would be far more typical than the melancholy he was only beginning to climb his way out of after weeks of brooding.

Stepping towards him, Harry held out his hand expectantly. Draco took it in an instant. "They're renting in Hogsmeade," he said as Draco turned, leading the way up the path from the carriage drop-off.

"Yes," Draco said.

"Literally right next door."

"They are. Aren't you lucky?"

"Oh, sod off," Harry said, rolling his eyes. Draco flashed him a grin, however, and he couldn't help but reply in kind. "There's overprotective and then there's obsessive. I don't think Mum knows the difference."

Draco shrugged. "Well, it won't be for long, will it? It's not like you're retaking your entire high school years all over again."

"Thank fuck, no." Harry closed his eyes in silent gratitude.

What had been decided wasn't typical, was about as far from typical as it came in terms of the history of Hogwarts' student allowances, but he blessed the decision every day. Full immersion in the magical teachings of his peers, picking up what little he could with a large dose of independent tutelage on the side, and then continuing with that tutelage after graduation in what Harry could only equate to pre-entry university courses.

He knew he couldn't possibly learn everything that Draco or the rest of his friends knew of magic and the magical world, but it was a start. Far better than the prospect of spending an extra seven years at school again. Even if it was Wizarding school, there were some lines Harry didn't think he could cross.

"Perhaps your mother will be a little more confident in your ability to protect yourself when you actually learn how to use your wand?" Draco suggested.

"I can only hope."

"Though I doubt it," Draco continued, smirking as Harry jabbed him with an elbow in the ribs.

"Shut up, you wanker," he muttered, and Draco laughed. It was wonderfully pleasant to hear when it happened so rarely of late, and Harry found he didn't even care that it was at his expense.

They would get better. Harry would shoulder through the last of Draco's inhibitions if it was the only thing he managed to accomplish before graduation. He was Harry's boyfriend, would remain his boyfriend despite his misguided feelings of guilt, and Harry would be damned if he'd give him the chance to duck out of their relationship.

They'd come this far. A magical school and a magical boyfriend? It was everything Harry hadn't known he wanted, and he'd be damned if he would give it up.

It was a resolution he'd made many a time, but there was no harm in making it once more as they made their way up the weaving road under Draco's lead. Any thoughts of silent commitments, however, faded abruptly from Harry's mind as they turned a bend through the forest. The dense forest that had hitherto allowed little of the surrounding countryside to be glimpsed. When it thinned, a vast openness of school grounds spread before Harry, a shimmering pool of a lake, and the school itself looming above it. Harry jerked to a halt to a stop.

The school.

"Yes?" Draco asked, pausing alongside him and cocking his head.

"That's a bloody castle," Harry said.

"Hogwarts?"

"Draco, that's a bloody castle right there."

Draco turned, following Harry's pointed finger. "Yes, it is. The school."

"Your – your school is -?" Harry paused to untangle his tongue. "No one told me Hogwarts was a goddamn castle."

Draco, the bastard, smirked. " _Our_ school, you mean." Then he tugged on Harry's hand and all but dragged him in motion towards the looming mass of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry could only follow, stumbling slightly in the wake of everything, _everything_ , that abruptly crashed down upon him, realised all at once in the face of that.

Magic.

A school that was a castle.

A magical boyfriend who was absolutely, one-hundred percent real and looking to stay that way.

Shaking his head, Harry could only laugh to himself. Weeks of impossibilities, the best and the worst kind, all seemed to culminate into one moment, into a perfect demonstration of that impossibility. Just what an absolutely unexpected and magical turn life had taken.


End file.
